


The witch's garden.

by Phileas



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, Witchcraft, a side of Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta, drunken bird, implied Bahorel/Feuilly - Freeform, religious fanatisme, someone skin a rabbit to eat it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:03:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phileas/pseuds/Phileas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a witch living at the angle of the Rue Mondétour and the Rue de la Chanvrerie. Everyone knows that.<br/>Like every other witches, she is old and ugly. She rides a broom at night and eats little girls for breakfast. She has a black cat and a black crow, and sometime she even transform people into toads when she's angry.<br/>Everyone knows that. </p><p>It makes Jehan laugh because he never transformed anyone into a toad and he is against cannibalism. Courfeyrac also says that he is young and pretty so that's that. (But then again, Courfeyrac has been a cat for a few years now and he's always trying to get on his good side.) The rest, he thinks, is kind of true... Grantaire would say some carefully chosen words about witchcraft and transforming people into crows, but Jehan thinks he brought it on himself, truly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Big House

The day was still young when Courfeyrac made it to the window sill, on the second floor of the big house. He was used to it by now, and he gently scratched the glass, hoping that the owner would open it and let him in.  
He had to slip through the fence in the garden and climb the gigantic apple-tree and it had been raining all night long. He could use some food and a warm place to sleep it off.  
He scratched the window again and mewled.

“Courfeyrac... And what time do you call this?”  
He looked up and spotted the drunk crow in the tree. The bird emitted what sounded like a cackle and swayed from left to right on his feet.  
“You're the one to talk.” he said in return. “You've been spying on humans again, haven't you?”  
The crow only croaked again and hopped on the roof just as the window was opened.  
“Courfeyrac! Here you are. Come in then!”  
The cat didn't need telling twice and he jumped inside before curling himself around the legs of the young man that had opened the window, with great demonstration of affection, headbutts and bouts of purring. The man, Jehan, laughed.  
“Purr all you want, you crazy beast, I know what you've been up to.”  
He crouched to pet the cat behind the ears and kissed him on the nose. The cat sneezed and sneakily made his way up into the arms of the young man, who stood up, the cat front paws on his shoulders. From his spot up there, Courfeyrac looked around and licked Jehan's neck in appreciation.  
Together they went down the stairs, to the kitchen.

The light was green, filtered through the countless potted plants hanging from the windows. Jehan then put him down and Courfeyrac ran to the closest and most comfortable armchair in the house. He then curled himself into a ball and promptly fell asleep.  
The crow was now at the kitchen window and was starring at Jehan, who was making great effort to ignore it.  
“Let me in, Jehan.” The bird tapped tirelessly at the glass until the man groaned and opened the window. “Thank you.  
“You're the most annoying creature there is. I have regrets ever letting you stay.  
“Ha! As if all of this isn't your fault, witch!”  
The crow hopped on the counter and started picking at a cherry.  
“You put it on yourself when you changed me. You could still change me back.  
“That wouldn't be very productive now, would it? You haven't learned your lesson yet.”

The crow harrumphed in his usual offended manner and went back to eating his cherry.  
“You're a peculiar one, witch. I don't know what you're expecting of me...  
“You know exactly what you did. Or rather, what you didn't do... Love is all you need.”  
He smirked at the bird and danced, bare feet, to the big wooden table in the middle of the room. The bird croaked miserably.  
“That doesn't make any sense! I'm a bird!”

But the witch was already busy making himself breakfast and he turned the radio on to drown out the croaky protestations. The bird huffed and hopped away to hide under the piano. Courfeyrac, woken by the radio, snickered and stretched lazily before making his way to Jehan again. He rubbed against him for a while and jumped on the table.  
“Can I have some of your food?”  
The young man eyed him critically and touched his belly with one pointy finger.  
“You're always so hungry. You'll get so fat you won't be able to walk. You will just... roll away.  
“... So it's a yes?”  
Jehan smiled and petted him softly on the head before giving him some sardines.  
“You're a terrible person. I've never been able to deny you anything. Even before.”  
Courfeyrac perked up. His memories of _Before_ where a little fuzzy at best.  
“Was I very pretty? I feel like I probably was.  
“You really were. And now look where that brought you! You're a cat.  
“But why?”

Jehan looked at him and smiled softly. He even seemed a bit sad.  
“You deserve it.”  
 _You deserve it._ It was the only answer Courfeyrac would ever get and he made him wonder what terrible thing he could possibly have done to Jehan.  
“I'm very sorry.” He would always say, and Jehan would smile and pet him again.

 

Not very long after noon, that very day, they had a visitor. A young man, very cheerful if terribly bald. Grantaire liked him and always came to perch on his shoulder.  
The man didn't seem to take offense of it and would always laugh, unconcerned.

“Lesgle!” Jehan smiled and came to embrace him. “Hello! How are you? Is the charm still working?  
“Oh yes, it's wonderful, I don't bump into anything anymore. Thank you very much. But I come not for me this time but for Joly. He is afflicted by terrible nightmares and I thought maybe you had some sort of infusion or herbs...”

Jehan smiled and gestured for him to sit down, which he did, Grantaire still perched on his shoulder. When there was a visitor, nor him nor Courfeyrac would utter a single word. To believe in magic, witchcraft and healing herbs was one thing, to hear a talking animal was an other. As those visits were the only source of food and money they would get, jeopardizing it would have been utterly stupid.  
“I'll give you some special homemade tea. A cup every evening before going to bed and he will sleep like a rock.” Jehan smiled slyly. “It happens to be rather excellent for sexual ardors also. Two in one. It makes for some quite excellent nights.”  
Lesgle blushed but smiled, easily amused and petted Grantaire's head while Jehan was busy measuring cups of herbs.

“Here you are, my friend. A tea-ball of this melange every night for a week. And if the nightmares come back after that, come back. But I think it'll be all right.  
“Thank you so much Jehan. I know it's not much, but I brought you some jar of Joly's mother's jam and a rabbit.  
“That's largely enough, Lesgle.” Jehan smiled, thrilled. “You know I love her jam. And it's been a long time since I've had some rabbit. The beasts will be pleased too!”

They said goodbye at the door and Jehan went back inside.  
“I like him.” Grantaire croaked from the top of the piano.  
“I know you do. And tonight we feast!” He laughed. “Rabbit and sauteed potatoes with little shallots. And jam for breakfast. Fantastic.” He took the dead rabbit to the garden and put him on the hook by the garden shed door to skin it.  
“You could make yourself new gloves with the fur. Yours are getting old.”

Courfeyrac was lying in the grass, between the carrots and the peas.  
“I could.” Jehan nodded. “I do need new gloves.” He smiled at the cat and started his work on the dead rabbit.  
“Will you let me lick your hands when you're finished?”  
Jehan smiled and sighed.  
“If I must.”

Courfeyrac started purring.

*

The big house they lived in at the angle of the Rue Mondétour and the Rue de la Chanvrerie, was very big and very old. Jehan took great care of it. It was hidden in a nook, between two gigantic buildings full of small apartments.  
It was literally hidden from sight with a subtle and inoffensive spell. The big house was absolutely visible for everyone who would care to see it. Children, heads-in-the-clouds passers-by, lovers and poets... Children would fear it, people in need would seek it. All in all, it was a good arrangement and Jehan was very happy with it.

There was a nice fence at the front, where some glycine grew and in the summer the flowers would blossom and give out the most incredible perfume.  
The garden was well maintained also. Filled with the most extraordinary varieties of plants and herbs and even a vegetable garden. Courfeyrac loved to lie there in the sun and spook birds away from the strawberries.  
The big house was white and massive. There was a big room downstairs where the living room and the kitchen melted together. There was a piano, an antique radio post and some very comfortable armchairs.  
The kitchen table had swallowed so many herb juices and mysterious powders since it was brought in, that sometimes Jehan was surprised it had not started to talk or levitate.

There was a big bathroom upstairs and two bedrooms. On of them was inhabited and served more as a library than anything. The other one was Jehan's.  
Then there was an attic, filled with numerous artifacts and souvenirs, a few paintings that Grantaire didn't remember were his, and some strange looking instruments that Jehan would sometimes use for cooking or to work his craft.

Courfeyrac didn't remember when or why he came here, to live in the big house at the angle of the Rue Mondétour and the Rue de la Chanvrerie, with the cranky bird and the charming witch, but he kind of liked it.

*

There was a book. Not a grimoire or any kind of magic book (although Jehan would say that every book is magic). No, it was a poesy anthology. It was Jehan's favourite and he would read it over and over again every night. He would write in the margins and slip pictures and notes between the pages. As a cat, Courfeyrac was not well verse in poesy. And the lack of opposable thumbs made it difficult for him to even open books.  
But this book, Jehan always kept close. He even halfheartedly hide it under his pillow during the day.

This particular afternoon, Jehan was busy downstairs with some clients and Courfeyrac decided that the hour was perfect for a nap in the bedroom. At this time of the day the sun would fall on the bed for a while and warm him up deliciously. He jumped on the bed and inadvertently dislodged the book from under the pillow, making it fall open on the carpet. Courfeyrac froze and looked to the door to see if Jehan had heard but it seemed not. The cat looked down and saw a photography lying halfway between the pages, halfway on the floor. He climbed down the bed and tiptoed closer to have a better look. It was a picture of Jehan. An old one. At least a few years back, he still had short hair.  
Courfeyrac was looking at the picture with wonder. Jehan looked so happy on it and was smiling like he never saw him smile. He was in the arm of an other man and Courfeyrac frowned (as much as his cat face allowed him to frown.). The other man was tall and very charming. He had a lot of black curls on his head and his hands were spread out on Jehan's torso and belly, as if he was trying to keep him flushed against him. He was smiling too, and looking at the smaller, younger version of Jehan. Courfeyrac instantaneously hated him.

If Jehan was keeping the picture in his favourite poetry book, it must have been important to him. But he never met the unknown man before, he never came to the big house. Maybe he was dead.  
“Good.” he thought. And then he felt guilty. Because Jehan was looking so happy on the picture, and he wished he could see his witch smiling like that again.  
He pushed the photography back in between the pages and tried, without success to close the book. With a sigh he decided that the best course of action was to lie on it. He spread out his long feline body all over the pages and once he was satisfied that his fur was hiding everything from unwanted attention, he closed his eyes.


	2. The Metamorphosis of Monsieur C.

Jehan remembered Courfeyrac. To be precise, he remembered Courfeyrac when he was still human. He used to be very much in love with him.  
Still was, somehow. But it was slightly more difficult now, seeing as Courfeyrac was a cat and all... Not to say that he regretted turning him into a feline. He deserved it at the time. He deserved it, truly.

He used to be so very much in love, and he thought it would be forever.  
He was so angry when he found out. So angry. He remembered being so furious that the weather turned to rain and a jar of preserved peas exploded on the kitchen counter.  
And now Courfeyrac was a cat.  
A beautiful cat mind you. (Just like he used to be a beautiful human being.) Charming, and full of grace. His fur was black and thick, soft and shiny (just like his hair). Jehan loved touching it.

He didn't pretend what he did is right. He knew perfectly well that he shouldn't have. He changed Courfeyrac and stole him from the world. Stole him from his family, from his friends, from his life and kept him inside the big house with him. He shouldn't have lied to him and hid the truth. He should have told him why he had done it, maybe scare him a bit and then turned him back and let him go... Let him leave.  
And now what could he do? If he was to undo the spell, Courfeyrac would hate him, surely. And return to what? He was pretty sure everyone thought him dead outside. It made him feel terrible and blush awfully in shame.

*

Jehan took a deep breath and turned to Courfeyrac, lying on the kitchen table. His tails twitched nervously as he stared at birds through the windows.  
“Do you want to be a man again?”  
The cat blinked and looked at him sharply.  
“What?  
“Do you want me to turn you back?  
“Do you want to turn me back?  
“I don't know.”  
The cat pulled himself to his paws and walked softly to Jehan, to headbutt him on the cheek. Jehan took him in his arms and buried his head in his fur. (Grantaire was outside, otherwise he would have asked to be turned back too. But Grantaire was different, he was not ready to be a man again, not yet.)  
“I'm not sure I can stand seeing you again, though.  
“I thought I was pretty!? You told me I was pretty!”  
Jehan started laughing.  
“You were! I don't mean that. You were very beautiful.”  
The cat stared to purr and Jehan laughed softly.  
“And very vain. But that, you still are, obviously.”

The cat gently licked his hands.  
“It can wait you know. I have been a cat for a while now. I can wait. I just wished I knew what I did. You know I'm very sorry for whatever it is that I have done. I don't want you to be sad.”  
Jehan smiled softly and kissed him on the head. He stood up, leaving Courfeyrac on the table and went back to crafting his spells.  
“You really want to know?  
“Yes!”  
Jehan bit his lips and took his knife in his hand. He started to cut some Valerian roots but didn't go on. Courfeyrac looked at him for a few minutes before whispering a very soft “Jehan?”  
The witch put his knife down but did not turn around. The cat's eyes widened when the salt jar started to shake on its own.

“You cheated on me.”

And then, salt. Salt everywhere on the counter and the floor.  
Jehan blushed terribly and closed his eyes. Alright. Maybe he was still slightly angry about it...

*

Grantaire was outside, in the garden. Actually, he was perched on the fence and was croaking menacingly at children. Sometimes a few of them would dare each other to touch the fence of the witch's house or look through the bars to see inside the garden. It was one of Grantaire's favourite pass-time, scaring children. He cackled maniacally when the little group scampered around in fright. Eh, you do what you can when you're a bird.

He slowly moved from his left foot to his right and sat himself more comfortably to look at passers by. People watching was an other hobby. Sometimes he would go to the window of a certain café and look at students talking about the future. It made him laugh. The future... What kind of future was there to have for him anyway? He was trapped into a crow. But he would go back often. Marvel at their youth, at their faith, at their grace and bodies. He longed to join them, walk among them, as a peer, as a human. To touch them and talk to them. He liked Jehan and Courfeyrac enough but he was sick of the lack of diversity.

One student in particular was retaining his undivided attention. A young man, too handsome not to be cruel, too alive not to be disdainful of what was left of Grantaire. And yet, he never tired of watching him through the window.

He had gone back there again the night before to watch them all. But this time, there was someone he knew among the students. The bald eagle who bumped into everything before Jehan gave him a lucky charm. He perked up at his sight and almost knocked himself against the glass in his surprise. He must have made some kind of noise, for half a dozen of those young men turned to him. He froze, ready to take flight when Lesgle came to open the window with a cry of surprise.  
“Oh, it's R! Hello there, little friend. You're very far from home...”  
He had let him hop inside and let the window open, which Grantaire thought, was very thoughtful.

“Bossuet... Did you really just... Let a raven come inside?  
“Technically speaking I think it's a crow.  
“That does not change anything, Bahorel.”  
Grantaire hopped on the table and most of the young men around it took a step back. He wanted to smirk.  
“This thing is enormous.”  
Bossuet smiled and started to pet him slowly on the head. (which was not very dignified but, oh so pleasant...)  
“I know him, he's Jehan's bird. He's very friendly.  
“Jehan? Your herbalist? He has a crow? I though it was illegal.  
“It is.” said an other student. Lesgle shrugged.  
"I think it's more of a mutual adoption in their case."  
Grantaire tended to agree. Jehan turned him and had to let him stay and Grantaire had nowhere else to go.  
“Can we focus on the matter at hand, please?”

Everyone turned toward the man that just spoke and Grantaire felt his feather puff uncontrollably. It was the beautiful young man he liked to watch so much. He hopped toward him and stared. The young man stared back, frowning and unsure of what to do.  
“Well... Hello there.  
“Hello.” Answered Grantaire back, before he could think better of it.

Everyone promptly freaked out.

It took them five minutes to google it and find out that crows could mimic human voice. Grantaire wanted to cackle but he refrained. Humans were incredibly good at finding facts that could explain unexplainable things. If crows had not been able to reproduce sounds, they would probably have blamed it on the wine or the food.  
Grantaire used this time to get closer to the young man and was practically throwing himself against his hands in the end. Bossuet was ecstatic.  
“I knew he liked me, but this is love, Enjolras. He got it bad.”  
The blond man, Enjolras, frowned but let the crow rub his head against his palm.  
“This is the most preposterous evening I have ever had... Combeferre, do something.  
“I wouldn't want to interfere in your young, budding love.”  
Enjolras narrowed his eyes, but never shoved Grantaire away, which the bird counted as a victory.  
Then he had somehow managed to sip wine from the glass of the one called Bahorel and ended up tumbling down the table, inebriate out of his feathery brain.

He was not sure how he made it home (probably Lesgle) but he was in the garden when he woke up the next morning.

Now, sitting on top of the fence, Grantaire wished he could still blush and hide his face in his hands in embarrassment. He settled for snapping his beak a few time and wiggle on the spot. He idly wondered if the apples under the apple-tree were old enough to have fermented and if he could get drunk on it but decided that they probably weren't.

Shame.

*

A few day had gone by, and the tension inside the house was starting to make Grantaire crazy. Jehan was unusually subdued and Courfeyrac seemed to avoid him in some sort of shame or guilt or whatever there was he was muttering about from under the bed in the library.  
The witch was not very loud in general, speaking softly and with gentleness, but this was bordering on mutism. He would work in silence, no songs, no poems would trouble the quietness of the big house any more and the bird hated it. None of them would speak with him and the radio was not the best conversationalist.

“For the love of the Goddess!” he finally snapped at Jehan one morning. “Go get him and kiss or hug or do whatever you codependent beings usually do and stop being miserable! This is getting ridiculous!”  
Jehan frowned but made no move. He was busying himself with pulverizing some leaves into a paste in a massive marble mortar.  
“He doesn't want to talk to me.  
“How would you know?  
“He's avoiding me, R.”

The crow pinched Jehan's sleeve with his beak to stop him from turning the paste into butter.  
“Jehan. Despite everything that you've done to me,” (Jehan sputtered in affront) “you're still my friend. Go in the library and talk to him.”  
The witch sighed and with a final pestle thrust, he went upstairs. Shaking his head, Grantaire flew to the piano and kept watch near the door.  
“I swear, those two...”

Upstairs, Courfeyrac was wallowing in self-hatred under the bed. He had soon understood that the charming young man he had detested so much, the one in the picture with Jehan was none other than himself. (He really used to be handsome, though. He must have had mad flirting skills, which... was probably why he was a cat now...)  
Jehan had been right to change him into an animal. He deserved it. He couldn't start to understand his past self, to be honest. Why did he cheat on Jehan? The young man was practically perfect in every way.  
On the other hand, it also meant that he and Jehan once were a couple... The cat hid his face behind his paws, wishing he could smile. The witch was really so lovely.

Speaking of witch, the very man entered the room and Courfeyrac tensed up. His charming face made its appearance just in front of him when Jehan laid down to look under the bed.  
“Courfeyrac...”  
The cat said nothing and Jehan sighed sadly and closed his eyes.  
“I know you must be mad at me, I'm so sorry. But please, come out.” He extended his hands toward the cat. “I miss you.”  
Courfeyrac mewled softly and rubbed his head against the proffered hand.  
“I miss you too... I'm sorry I cheated on you, I'm terrible, you should have turn me into a frog or a slug. You should have lost me in the wood and-  
“Courfeyrac...” Jehan was smiling very softly. “I turned you into a cat and let you live like that for four years. I think I was the one in the wrong.”  
Courfeyrac came out of under the bed and all but throw himself in Jehan's arms and against his throat. He started purring.  
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.  
“I'm sorry too.”

They stayed like that for a while but the bell on the front door forced them to move. Jehan kept Courfeyrac in his arms when he went down the stairs and a strangled croaking from Grantaire made him scowl.  
“R?”

The crow was still on the piano but was looking by the window to the person behind the door. Never letting Courfeyrac down (not that the cat had any intention of getting out of the witch's arms), he opened the door to be faced by a very tall and handsome young person with blond curls and delicate features.  
“Hello? May I help you?  
“Good morning. My name is Enjolras, I was told you could help me. Lesgle told me you could help me.”

Jehan let him in and gestured for him to sit down in one of the armchairs. R was staring and looked very close to perch himself on the stranger's laps. Jehan frowned at him and turned back to the young man.  
“Surely there is something you need, then. What is it?  
“I need help finding someone. He disappeared a few years ago, his name is Hugo Courfeyrac.”

 


	3. The Empty Painter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire is turned into a crow and is most displeased about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's very short, but the next chapter is already half done, so it shan't be too long.

 

Grantaire was a painter. He painted for a living and was doing reasonably well. Which is to say, he was reasonably broke. He would paint saints and angels on the insides of churches during the day and drink and dance in bars and cafés at night. Sometimes he would spare an afternoon to practice the baton with a handful of people in some forgotten sport room, between a petanque field and a dojo. These afternoons would more often than not end at the Corinth in some inane domino games where the point would be played for 1 franc.

He was lively, often joyful, knew jokes and songs and ate with appetite.

Deplorably, he was considered somewhat unattractive by women and was, more often than not, alone in his bed at the end of the day.

 

Grantaire did not believe in love. And thus, did not believe in anything.

 

People who did not believe in love were, sadly, legion, but what made Grantaire special was his vocalization of it. He would take great pleasure in saying to whomever would listen that love was a human fabrication, a trick of the sense, a chemical brain reaction.

All of this was going quite well for him until one day...

One of these days, magical ones, when you meet someone special. Not the love of your life, no... An actual magical person, someone with delicate nerves and a great sense of justice, someone who could change you life for ever, for better or worse.

Someone like Jehan Prouvaire.

 

Jehan Prouvaire loved love, and took it very seriously. He would open his eyes in the morning and see love everywhere. He wrote poetry, read a lot too, smiled to children and sang to flowers.

But more importantly, he was very much in love with someone. A young man he still had to talk to. Tall, with dark hair, so lovely he was a treat just to look at. The man name's was Hugo Courfeyrac and he was the most handsome person Jehan had ever seen.

 

That very special day, Jehan was sitting in a café, sighing after his secret love and writing verse and stanza in a little notebook. He was going to drink the very last drop of his coffee when a male voice reached his ears, repeating Grantaire's very well rehearsed speech about love.

Struck on the spot, Jehan could only find the man who was speaking and stare at him in abject horror.

His words were vexing and terrible to the young man and he saw red. How could someone talk so lightly and badly of love? Not unlike a fury, the witch rose from his seat and turned to Grantaire, fire in his eyes, his cup of coffee trembling behind him.

Time stopped in the small café. Jehan was staring at Grantaire and Grantaire was staring right back, mouth half open in surprise and the slightest traces of fear. He looked around and back to the young man, whose red hair were braided over his shoulder.

“What...

“You disgrace the ground you walk on and the very wine you drink, philistine.” Jehan spat. “How dare you speak so lightly of love. Do you not believe in anything? You're making me... so angry!” The glass of wine in Grantaire's hand exploded and the painter could only look at the furious god in front of him. On his lips, words were tumbling, unheard. _Aphrodite, Eros_...

 

In the blink of an eye, Jehan was in front of him, seething with rage.

“You do not deserve to experience love if you belittle it so. You do not deserve to live your life as it is, if you do not believe in anything.

“I... Please don't...

 

Jehan put a very light finger on his lips and Grantaire found himself incapable of speech. His eyes widened as he started to shake in fear.

“No.” Jehan shook his head and, standing tall, he looked down at the painter. Slowly, he reached inside his pocket and his hand came back covered in some sort of black treacle. He dragged his hand over Grantaire's face and throat and took a step back. The molasses was bitter and foul smelling.

“There... I do believe you will learn a few things now.”

Grantaire tried to speak again but the only sound that left his mouth was a deep croaking and, in fright, he tried to put his hands to his mouth, to realize that he now lacked both. He startled himself and fell of his chair in a heap of black feathers.

“I'm a raven!!! You made me into a... a talking raven!

“A crow.”

The painter looked up to the man and cowered at his fierce look.

“And a crow you will stay until you learn.”

 

Grantaire panicked and clumsily tried to get out of the café. Jehan did not try to stop him and the bird disappeared in the sky of Paris.

Once alone, Jehan sighed and put his hand to his forehead. He really had to control his angry fits.

 

*

 

It took five days to Grantaire to arrive at Jehan's house.

The witch was gardening, elbows deep in compost, when R perched himself on the roof of the garden shed.

“What have you done to me? What are you? Turn me back!”

Jehan looked up to the bird and smiled.

“Ha! There you are. How's your day?

“I'M A BIRD!

“I noticed. It suits you. Black as your poor heart.”

The crow huffed and fidgeted.

“What are you?

“I'm a witch.

“I thought only women were witches.” Said Grantaire.

“You don't know much then.

“Will you turn me back?

“No. You'll turn back on your own when the lesson is learned.” Jehan smiled softly at the crow and made a small head gesture toward the big house. “You're welcome to stay in the meantime if you'd like some company.”

The bird made an offensive noise but stayed on the shed with Jehan the whole afternoon.

 

*

 

“He's so handsome. I dare not speak to him.”

Grantaire huffed a little from his spot on the piano.

“Oh come on, witch... What could possibly happen to you?

“He could break my heart.” Jehan looked down at his hands and laced them together, smiling. “Love is terribly serious, don't you know?”

The rude noise the bird made then quickly turned into a squeak at Jehan's furious glare. R sighed to regain his composure.

“Yes, well... You should talk to him anyway. Nothing is going to happen while you wait, Rapunzel. You're going to be very lovely together, very much in love, for ever and ever until the day one of you get his heart broken, that's how love work!”

 

Jehan sighed, fed up, and glared some more at the bird for a few more seconds until his gaze softened.

“You're right.

“I am?” Grantaire asked, unsure.

“Yes. I should talk to him anyway. What's the worst that could happen, eh?”

Jehan gave his most loveliest smile to Grantaire and even kissed him on the head before putting on his coat.

Grantaire watched him go, gloomy and muttering.

 

*

 

The day Jehan turned Courfeyrac into a cat and spent the night crying into his pillow, Grantaire did not even have the heart to tell him “I told you so”.


	4. The Paper Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don't understand, Feuilly, I temporally froze him... I have a frozen person in my living room and I'm not sure if he can see or hear what I'm doing! What if I just... petrified him? What am I going to do? You have to come! … No!... No, you're the best for that sort of things. Please. Thank you!!! Thank you so much! See you soon.”
> 
> Or the one in which almost everyone threaten Enjolras with promises of some Montparnasse-actions but we still don't know what he does for a living.

 

Courfeyrac was sitting on the piano, on-top of some Handel pieces, ears almost flat against his head. He was looking at Jehan, talking urgently on the antique Bakelite phone.

 

“You don't understand, Feuilly, I temporally froze him... I have a frozen person in my living room and I'm not sure if he can see or hear what I'm doing! What if I just... petrified him? What am I going to do? You have to come! … No!... No, you're the best for that sort of things. Please. Thank you!!! Thank you so much! See you soon.”

 

Jehan put the phone back on the small table by the piano and looked at Courfeyrac. The cat blinked and the young man sighed.

“This is a disaster.

“You could still call Montparnasse.

“Courfeyrac!” Jehan cried, a hand on his heart. “This young man is... was... Is your friend! You can't just _call Montparnasse_! Frankly, love...”

The cat perked up and rubbed his face to Jehan's.

“You do love me then.” Jehan blushed.

“No... It's... It's a reflex. You're a cat anyway.

“You could change me back at night and make me a cat again in the morning.”

Jehan's face was so unimpressed that even R started cackling.

“You are a terrible terrible person, Courfeyrac. With a strange sense of priority and a dash of mindless cruelty.” said the witch.

“Ah!” croaked R, “You just described any kind of cat, really.

“Hush, you... “

Jehan took Courfeyrac in his arms and went to sit back in his chair with the (still purring) cat, to wait for Feuilly.

 

It took almost twenty minutes for the awaited man to come. A knock made his arrival known. Jehan kissed the top of Courfeyrac's head and stood up to face the wall at the back of the living room where the wallpaper was a (delightful) choice of multicoloured stripes. Jehan blew softly over the paper and the man called Feuilly appeared between two bands of purple and pink. He stepped out of the wall and took his top hat off.

“Jehan. Hello.

“Feuilly! Oh, I'm so glad to see you.”

 

The young man smiled with relief and hugged the tall magician who responded in kind.

“So... Where is your little trouble?

“Just here.”

They turned to Enjolras, still unresponsive in the armchair.

“Oh, he's a pretty one. Shame.”

 

Jehan bit his lips and let Feuilly examine the blond man under the careful eyes of the inhabitants of the big house. He took his time, read his hands and very blue eyes, and rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Mmmh, yes... I see.

“What?

“Good news, he's very healthy and unarmed by your spell.

“Thank the goddess...

“Bad news, he is very much awake and most likely aware of what is going on.

“Oh, my stars...” Jehan sat on the sofa, a hand on his forehead, quite pale and shaking. “What am I to do now? I can't let him go around with knowledge of all of this!”

Feuilly sat in front of Jehan and smile apologetically.

“I'm sure we'll find a solution. And at the very worst...

“Don't say Montparnasse! I refuse to even think of this possibility...

“Very well.” The magician stood up. “Would you care for some tea?”

“Oh, yes please... I'm sorry, how unthoughtful of me, I can make some.

“No, Jehan, it's all right, I now the way to the kitchen.” Feuilly smiled and walked away, taping a little rhythm on the lapel of his long coat.

Meanwhile, the witch could only look at the young petrified man and wince.

“Oh this is terrible... I'm so sorry.” he said to him. “I panicked when I heard about Courfeyrac. Well... Hugo.”

He sighed deeply and the cat climbed back on his lap.

“Can you unpetrify his face? Maybe he has things to say.

“Oh I'm sure he has, Courfeyrac. And I doubt any of it is very flattering.” said the young witch in sorrow. “All of this is a gigantic mess and I know it's my fault for having been so... So...”

He stopped there before his nerves made anything explode again. He felt like crying and Courfeyrac mewled sadly.

“Oh, Jehan... Don't be sad...” softly, he licked at Jehan's face, who smiled a little.

 

Grantaire, for his part, was still looking at Enjolras.

“He is so beautiful.”

Jehan and Courfeyrac stopped their soft chatting and turned their heads to him. R didn't mind them.

“You know, I know him a little. He is... well. He is wonderful, truly. He is very passionate and resolute. He has very soft hands also, very gentle. He wants to better the world. Ah...” There, the crow grew more bitter. “Ah... He wants a bright future and equality for all. What a joke... But look at him now. Look at him...” They did. “He is like a statue of some antique Greek hero.” He cackled. “A lost Ulysses at the hand of our own personal Circe.” Jehan blushed. “Look at him... He is too fine a marble to get rid of.”

 

Jehan stared at Grantaire in awe and finally looked up at Enjolras, a unreadable expression on his face.

“R is right. There might be a purpose for him. I guess the gods would not sent him without reasons. And I do believe his part is yet to be played.”

From the kitchen, Feuilly hummed softly in agreement. “Clear as day in his hands!”

Jehan sat a bit straighter and looked Enjolras in the eyes. He took a deep breath and said:

“I am going to let you move... But don't do anything foolish, please.

“It's not like you would be able to escape.” Feuilly added, bringing back three cups of strong tea. He put them delicately on the table and sat himself on the last armchair.

“Shall we proceed?

Jehan nodded and closed his eyes. When he opened them a few seconds later, Enjolras was blinking furiously to humidify his poor ocular globs and Jehan felt bad for it. He should have thought of that.

Enjolras was immobile in his chair, a hand on his torso.

“What... What are you?”

Jehan looked at Feuilly who shrugged before drinking his tea in a very relaxed manner. Jehan sighed and turned back to Enjolras.

“Well. To be concise, we practise magic. Or witchcraft in certain cases.

“Mostly in yours, witch.” croaked Grantaire from his spot, still on Enjolras' knees. The young man looked down at him and blinked, still out of it, then he frowned.

“You... You did speak that night!”

Jehan slowly turned his gaze to Grantaire who stilled and looked everywhere but at Jehan.

“You spoke in public?

“I just said hello! They thought it was normal! They googled it.” At this, Feuilly snorted.

“They always google it.”

Jehan frowned some more but looked at Enjolras again.

“Did you google it?”

The question seemed to take Enjolras out of his baffled state.

“Is this really the question you're interested in asking? If I googled it?

“Well did you?

“Yes...”

Jehan smiled and gently pushed a cup of tea in front of him.

“Excellent. Have some tea.”

But Enjolras apparently couldn't care less for the cup of tea. He stared at Courfeyrac.

“Why is Hugo a cat? It's him, right?”

The sudden and frank question seemed to physically hit Jehan who recoiled and bit his lips.

“It's him, yes. It's... It's complicated. I...” He looked at Courfeyrac, still on his lap, and very gently buried his fingers in his black fur. “I have been thinking about changing him back for a while but...” His voice became so soft and gentle, it was almost hard to hear it. “I'm scared.”

The cat looked at him and pushed his head into Jehan's hands to comfort him, then looked at Enjolras.

“I don't remember you, though.” He said, and Jehan bit his lip once more.

“You'll remember everything when you're human again.” He smiled faintly at Courfeyrac and put him on the carpet and off him. “It's time, I think. I kept you far too long.”

Courfeyrac mewled in alarm and tried desperately to climb back on Jehan's legs but the witch stood up.

“Jehan... Jehan _non_... Don't, oh gods, I'm scared too. Please. I'm not ready!

“It's time, love.”

The small name stopped Courfeyrac who stilled on the rug with a pitiful mewl.

“It sounds like a goodbye... Don't...”

Jehan smiled weakly and fetched a blanket.

“You'll be naked... You can cover yourself with this while I get you some clothes if you want.

“Jehan... Please.

“Hush now. It's decided.” He looked at the cat and his smile became sadder. “I'm so sorry for everything, Hugo.”

 

Grantaire was looking at the scene in numb stupefaction. He had been a crow for nearly five years now and never thought he would see this happen.

He knew how complicated the relationship between Courfeyrac and Jehan had been. How devastated Jehan had been when he found out about the cheating. When he found out that he was in fact the kept-lover, the mistress away from home... He remembered the anger and the fury... The ravaged kitchen, the week-long storm over Paris. And the tears that followed, the grief. He had cut his hair in the next days, mourning.

And suddenly, in front of them in the blink of an eye, was sitting Hugo Courfeyrac in all his naked glory.

Feuilly chocked on his tea and Enjolras tensed.

“Holy sweet Hel... Jehan!” Feuilly sat straighter. “He is a looker!”

Jehan looked at him, a bit surprised and distracted. He smiled, dimly, before disappearing in the stairs.

The former cat stayed on the carpet and looked at his hands and feet in awe.

“I have opposable thumbs! R, I have thumbs!” He smiled at Grantaire and, seeing Enjolras, stood up immediately, making the blanket pool around his feet. Feuilly put a hand in front of his mouth but did not look elsewhere.

“Enjolras! Jules Enjolras! I remembered you, of course!” He started to laugh in delight and Enjolras softly pushed R aside to stand up and hug Courfeyrac very tightly.

“I knew you were alive... I knew it.

“Of course I was! I was... here. With... With Jehan and... R.” He frowned and looked around. “Where is Jehan? I... Oh gods.” He gently pushed Enjolras away and grabbed the blanket to cover himself again. “Oh gods... I did a terrible thing to him!” He grabbed Enjolras' arm to hold himself straight and sat on the sofa. “Oh my stars...” He whispered, catching Jehan's speech pattern without realising it. “I remember everything.”

Jehan chose this moment to re-enter the room with a few carefully folded clothes in his arms. Upon seeing Courfeyrac, he steps faltered a bit but he forced a smile on his face and handed the garments out.

“Here. These are yours. They should still fit.”

Courfeyrac silently dressed himself, avoiding Jehan's eyes, while Feuilly started to talk to Enjolras.

“You understand that you cannot talk of this to anyone but Courfeyrac. This is of the utmost importance. Jehan seems to like you, or rather, like the Cat enough to refuse to arm you. Would it be my choice, this man would still be an animal, and you would be well on your way to the hospital. Jehan saved you today. If you communicate, in any possible way, a single information about Jehan being a witch, _I_ will call Montparnasse. And even death will be preferable to this.

“Feuilly, don't frighten him...

“I have to, Jehan. Anything could happen to you if he was to talk carelessly! I don't want to read in the paper that your house had been burned down by fanatics during the night!

“I won't! I won't talk about it...” assured Enjolras, gravely. “I don't know what happened yet... But Hugo is back and... That's what I wanted. If I have further qualms, I will ask him or... Come back here, I guess. But I won't talk about it.

“You better.” said Feuilly. “Because we'll know. You better come up with a believable lie about Courfeyrac's absence... Something very normal and plausible. Like amnesia. Amnesia seems to always work in your television shows...

“R will go with you, to be sure.” Cut Jehan very softly.

Everyone turned to him and Grantaire croaked a shaky “What?

“It would tranquillise me to know that R is with you both. That way he can keep an eye on Enjolras and... And be sure that Courfeyrac is well. That's not negotiable.”

Courfeyrac looked at Jehan from under is lashes and grabbed the armrest of the chair more tightly. Enjolras looked at the wide-eyed bird and nodded.

“All right.

“What??” croaked Grantaire again.

Feuilly cleared his throat at stood up.

“If everything is well, I will leave you to it, Jehan.” He turned to Courfeyrac. “Of course, you too are forbidden from talking about this to anyone. Understood?”

Courfeyrac nodded curtly and Feuilly seemed satisfied.

“Excellent. Good day then.” He put his hat back on and ran toward the wall in large steps before throwing himself against it. As if the stripes were a simple paper door, he disappeared between two of them in a very dramatic cloud of purplish pink. R rolled his eyes.

“Show off.” he muttered.

 

Enjolras stayed silent for a few seconds before he rigidly turned to Jehan.

“I shall take my leave, then...

“Yes.

“Well. Thank you for the tea.” His cup was still on the coffee table, untouched.

“Don't mention it.”

Enjolras bowed his head a little and made a sign for Courfeyrac to come with him. The young man did without a word, but with a last longing look toward Jehan.

The witch, head down, didn't notice.

 

R croaked and looked in concern to Jehan, but the other men where already out in the garden.

“Will you be well, Jehan?

“Of course. Go with them...” He smile softly. “Go on. Don't make them wait. And take care of yourself. Plus, you might like to have an other person to talk to now.”

Grantaire didn't want to go but the witch practically manhandled him out. He waved them all goodbye and quickly went back inside.

The garden fence closed shut.

 

Jehan sat in his armchair and looked around, at loss.

Silence fell on the big house and in the young man's heart.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't begin to thank you all enough for the wonderful amount of kudos and subscriptions this story received. It makes me so happy to see that people like this.  
> A gigantic thank you to all of you that left comments so far also, you all are lovely and I love to read your thoughts.  
> I hope you liked this chapter! =)


	5. The Sleeping Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer solstice is upon them, offerings are made and pictures are taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy anniversary to the French Revolution! 224 years ago, it started! 
> 
> On an other note, here is what human Grantaire looks like : http://www.lesinrocks.com/wp-content/thumbnails/uploads/2011/01/duris_012-tt-width-604-height-403-attachment_id-21082.jpg  
> I am sorry it took so long to be updated. This chapter is slightly longer than the previous ones, please accept this as an apology.   
> As always, an heartfelt thank to all of you who commented/subscribed/gave kudos and read the story.

 

 

The three of them talked about it for a while before they decided to bring Courfeyrac to the Musain. Enjolras was unhappy with the story they settled upon. He thought it too simple, too easy, out of a soap opera. But, as R remarked, the less details, the better, and so they went with it.

A revengeful ex-girlfriend, a mob of angry brothers, some amnesia thrown in the mix, with a nice old lady to take Courfeyrac in, feed and wash him in exchange for housework, until Enjolras found him and everything came back... As if by magic.

They all winced.

 

Courfeyrac cried when he saw all his friends again.

He was busy hugging Combeferre when someone turned him around and he came nose to nose with Bossuet.

“Oh crap... Bossuet! You... Hi!” He engulfed the bald man in a strong embrace to hide his trouble.

 

From his spot on the window sill, R strangled himself around a croak. He had forgotten about Bossuet and Joly! Well, not forgotten, but he never made the link between Jehan's clients and Enjolras (and subsequently, Courfeyrac.)

Bahorel looked at the crow and turned to Enjolras.

“Why is the bird here again?

“The herbalist forcefully gave him to me.”

Joly smiled and put his hand on Enjolras' shoulder.

“Probably because R loves you so much he would follow you everywhere anyway!”

He and Bahorel laughed at the discomfit blond and R hoped to him to perch on his free shoulder. Enjolras turned his head slightly to glance at him and the black bird croaked loudly in his ear.

Bossuet joined Joly and Bahorel at there table and sat across from Enjolras.

“I told you Jehan could help you find Hugo! This is fantastic!” He couldn't stop smiling as Courfeyrac and Combeferre dragged more chairs to surround the table.

“It is indeed incredible.” Nodded Combeferre. “How did he do that? You call him an herbalist, but it seems to me as if the man is a wizard.

“A witch.”

Everyone turned to Courfeyrac who blushed. R was staring at him and Enjolras tensed.

“I mean... Men can be witches. I guess. If witches were real, of course.” Courfeyrac stammered. Enjolras calmly put his hands on the table and intervened.

“Jehan is an herbalist and that's all. He called someone who could help us find Hugo and, don't ask me how, you know I don't believe in magic, but this friend of his somehow managed to locate Hugo. Now... It is highly suspicious and strange, Yes.” R's claws tightened painfully on Enjolras' shoulder. “His friend probably is a very good private detective. But I think the most important thing here is that Hugo is here with us tonight.”

 

There was a cheer and Enjolras took advantage of the fact that everyone was busy with getting drinks to glower at the crow. R glared back before sighing and rubbing gently his head on the man's temple. Bahorel cried out as he slammed a pint of beer in front of Courfeyrac.

 

“SO! Tell us about these past four years! What happened???

“Well...”

 

* * *

 

Jehan exhaled slowly has he delicately pushed his whole hands in the belly of a horned goat to extract the heart out of the animal. The grass was covered in blood and Jehan rose from where he was straddling the carcass, the heart in his hands dripping red on his bare body. His head only was adorned with a crown of St Jones' wort.

No one in the clearing spoke a single word as the young witch stood up entirely and turned around to present his offering to the tall figure of the officiant sitting under the oak tree. He took three steps and gently, with a tender smile, put the heart in the being's hands.

The crowd was unmoving, waiting for a sign of acceptance, and when the tall silhouette moved the heart to its mouth, they cheered, deafening in the clear night, and drums started to resound in the forest. Jehan smiled, relieved, and knelt in front of the figure, his hands opened, palm up, on his knees.

Behind him, the goat carcass was disposed of and brought up near the gigantic fire in the middle of the congregation. Jehan watched as the creature ate the heart whole and when it was done, he opened his mouth for the officiant to pour golden beer and sweet dark wine in. He was fed honey and rose water cake, fresh fruits and sweet cream. His lips were bloodied by kisses that tasted of sacrifice, his skin caressed by governing hands as he was bent over and his face gently pushed against the grass. The poppy concoction he had inhaled earlier before the sacrifice made the world shine a bit brighter, in hues of red and gold.

A wanton cry escaped his throat when the officiant entered him for the first time. The sensation of the wooden sex in him was strange and cold but it lit a terrible fire in his body and he cried again as the movements became relentless. The drums in his ears and the smell of blood were going to his head and Jehan lost it to the summer celebrations. He came a first time, and again, timelessly, until there was nothing left for him to give to the ground, until his voice was broken in his throat, until he was lying down, shaking and halfway out of his mind and body, until they gathered him in strong arms and laid him on soft linen, washed him gently with warm water and perfumed oils, burned incense and fed him more fruits, more wine and honey.

 

Morning came soon enough on the shortest night of all.

 

Feuilly was sitting outside of the tent, chatting quietly with others as he waited for Jehan to wake. The celebrations had been blessed by many good omens and the night had been fruitful in many ways. As Musichetta came out of the tent, a bowl of warm water in her hands, Feuilly stood up and joined her with a smile.

 

“A good morning to you, Musichetta.

“And to you, Feuilly. Are you waiting for Jehan? He is still sleeping.”

Feuilly smiled indulgently.

“I figured. He did well last night. The gods are pleased.” He took the bowl from her hands. “But tell me about you now... You were the gods' vessel, how are you feeling?

“I am well. In fact, I have never felt so fine. I can feel the earth beating in my veins.”

 

Feuilly changed the water in the bowl and Musichetta grabbed a few more fruits.

“He is going to be starving when he wakes up. The gods were ardent through me, and I am afraid I might have bruised his hips.”

Feuilly laughed a little.

“I am sure it is nothing a little bit of salve can arrange. Tell him I gathered the plants he asked for.”

The smiled at each others and Feuilly sat back on the grass while Musichetta re-entered the tent.

 

* * *

 

He wanted to strangle the damn creature and donate it to the Natural History Museum.

The bird had taken to follow him everywhere. Really everywhere and Enjolras had, more than once, had to physically throw him out of the bathroom, in order to shower in peace.

If only it was only that, but the thing talked a lot. All the time. Making jokes, singing songs, eating his fruits and leaving half eaten beetles on the kitchen table. “For later!” he claimed. Enjolras barely refrained himself from screaming in rage. He would also read his papers, his work for school and for the politic association he was in, and mock them, cynicism dripping from every word until Enjolras snap at him and throw him out of the flat by the kitchen window. (This, he soon learnt, was not a good solution. The crow would tap at the glass until Enjolras contemplate suicide and the benefits of self throat-cutting.)

The crow, “call me R.”, would turn the television on and watch the news, or quiz games. He didn't like series, but loved historical documentaries. He watched Arte and France5 a lot, but his favourite was Canal+. Enjolras would mock him for being a picky snob, but they were also his favourite and so he wisely chose to stay silent.

He would also turn the radio on, and move his little bird body to the rhythm of the music.

“I think I used to dance....” He said once. And Enjolras frowned. “Yeah. I think I loved it.

“Wait... You.” Enjolras turned the music off and R huffed in displeasure. “You were a human too?

“Yes yes. Until I met Jehan that is. Not that he makes a habit of changing people. It's only me and Courfeyrac, really. Well. Me mostly, now. Only me, in fact. But I'm used to it by now.

“But why hasn't he changed you back yet?”

R moved his wings to make himself more comfortable.

“He says that he cannot change me back because it's not the same type of spell. Courfeyrac was changed out of vengeance, and I'm more of a... Princess and the frog, or _la Belle et la Bête_ kind of person. I need to figure stuff by myself apparently because the spell is there to, and I quote: 'teach me a lesson!'.” He watched Enjolras digest the information and tilted his head to the side. “Maybe you should kiss me.”

 

Enjolras pouted to show all the disdain he had for the simple idea and gently pushed R with his hand, making him tumble down the radio where he was perched.

 

*

 

A week later, after a day at home where R had been particularly insufferable, Enjolras grabbed the bird between his hands and glared at him until the bird fell silent in half fright.

“Stop it. Stop being a nuisance. Let me work on this for two more hours and I'll let you wiggle all you want to the latest pop song on the radio. But I swear to your gods, I WILL lock you up in the closet if you don't shut your beak.”

There was a minute of mutual glaring and R relaxed entirely in Enjolras' hands.

“I love being manhandled.”

When Enjolras' eyes widened in rage, R quickly spoke up again.

“But I'll be nice! I swear! A perfect picture of a nice bird, being nice and quiet and unmoving.”

There was more glaring and Enjolras let the bird go.

R managed an hour and forty-five minutes and Enjolras hide the figs from him as a punishment.

 

*

 

Enjolras was working at his desk when he suddenly turned toward R sitting on the sofa, watching a quiz game on mute and generally being nice. The bird looked at him, curious, and move his head a bit.

“Can you... Come here for a minute, R?”

The bird took flight to perch on the desk lamp.

“What can I do for you, today, oh golden Adonis? I'd give you three wishes, but I'm not _that_ magical.” Enjolras smiled.

“I know. I wanted to try out an hypothesis we talked about a while ago.

“An hypothesis? Really? I'm curious now...”

Enjolras smiled again and gently put a kiss on the bird's head. R froze, his eyes the only moving thing, as Enjolras put an other kiss on the side of his beak.

 

“Apparently it was a false hypothesis.”

R let out a strangled croak and almost fell from the lamp.

“A... A false hypothesis. I see... Maybe you should try again?”

The man rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway, amused by the bird.

“No. Go back to your game, R. I have to work”

The crow huffed in disappointment and jumped on Enjolras' shoulder, rubbing his head on the man's temple.

“Adonis indeed. I feel like Persephone at the end of my third. Cast aside for the lovely eyes of Aphrodite. Or rather, in this case, Patria.

“I'm not casting you aside, R... Come on, off you go.

“Let me stay at your desk. Please. I'll be silent until I can't be anymore.

“Will you even try?” Enjolras looked up at him, incredulous.

“I will, I swear. Let me turn the TV off, and I'll just stay on the lamp, silently mocking your life choices and basking in your perfection.”

 

Torn apart between a long-suffering sight and a smile, Enjolras huffed and nodded.

Overjoyed, R fumbled to turn off the TV and spend his afternoon watching over the young man, a general air of contentment on his bird-face.

 

* * *

 

It was the middle of July when the front door bell rang in the big house. Jehan looked up from his work and whipped his hands on his apron as he made his way to the door.

When it opened to reveal Joly and Bossuet, Jehan paled and froze on the spot. A drawn-out, forced smile adorned his lips a few seconds later.

“Hello. It's been a while.”

When both men smiled genuinely, Jehan started to relax.

“Please, come in. Is everything all right with you too?

“Oh yes, yes! It's a social visit.”

Joly laughed a little as Jehan asked them to, please please sit, I made some lemonade!

They talked pleasantly for a couple of hours, eating the home-made biscuits the men had brought with them, chatting about everything they could possibly think of, including the hell R was rising in Enjolras' life and how the blond student was starting to like it.

Not more than once did they mentioned Courfeyrac, which struck Jehan as strange but left him oddly relieved. He quickly changed the subject.

They did asked where his cat had gone, though. And Jehan shrugged delicately.

“Oh... you know, cats in summer...”

They laughed.

Jehan felt like crying.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras froze on the spot and his hands tightened around his bottle of tea.

There was a strange man in his living room. A stranger, to be exact. A tall, dark-aired man, with wan skin and deep shadows under his closed eyes, he seemed tired and weary. He was very thin and his black clothes were hanging sadly from his frame. He was sleeping by the window, exactly were R had been dozing off when the man had left to fetch tea from the pantry.

 

Enjolras let out a surprised sound and blinked. R turned to him with alarm, his bird eyes wide opened.

“Everything's all right there?

“You... You were a man!

“I was yes, five years ago.”

Enjolras frowned and stride toward him, crouching to be at his level.

“No! Just now! You were there, by the window and... You were a man!

“What?” The crow seemed fazed and unsure. “Non-sense... I would have felt it.” He glanced at Enjolras. “What did I look like?”

The young man frowned and examined the bird critically.

“Your hair is black, quite curly, you have a sever case of week-old beard and you look tired. You're thin...”

R was looking at him with his gigantic beady eyes now and he appeared agitated.

“I don't understand... How? If I was back to myself just now, why am I still a bird?

“I don't know! I don't know... What where you thinking of?

“I wasn't thinking of anything! I think I was having a micro nap.”

Enjolras bit his lip and sat on the window sill with the bird. Gently, he caressed his neck with a single finger. They said nothing for a while.

 

“Maybe that's why. Maybe you turn back when you're asleep.”

R huffed and hoped closer to Enjolras' tights.

“No... I fell asleep in a piano once. I think I would have noticed if I had turned back...

“What changed then?

“I am here, I guess.”

Enjolras opened his bottles and drank a little bit of tea. He hummed slowly and took R on his lap, stretching his legs on the entirety of the window sill.

“Well. Maybe my flat is magical.”

Grantaire snorted but he still sounded unsure and a little bit fragile. He curled up on the man's lap.

 

“Hey, Enjolras.

“Mh?

“If it happens again, can you take a picture?”

Enjolras laughed a little and poked the bird in the wing.

“I'll think about it.

 

*

 

It happened again a few days later. Enjolras came out of his bedroom in the morning to find the same tall man lying on the sofa, dead to the world. He felt his breath get stuck in his throat and he fumbled for his phone. Slowly and quietly, he took a picture of the slumbering stranger. When he looked at the result he couldn't help but let out a disappointed and frustrated noise. There was no man on the picture, only a very big bird on a cushion. When he looked up, R was watching him with very wide and hopeful eyes that looked away in disappointment when Enjolras shook his head.

 

*

 

“I don't understand... I took a dozen pictures and none of them worked out! You're a bird on all of them! I... I saw you R. I swear you were there, you were a man!

“I believe you Enjolras. I do. But maybe magic don't work that way. Maybe you can't just take photographs.”

 

Enjolras frowned, his face the very picture of frustration, and R found himself laughing despite everything.

 

*

 

Enjolras was sitting on the coffee table, his eyes never leaving the face of the sleeping man on the sofa. He had been looking at him for the last five minutes and chewing on his bottom lip.

Slowly, with hesitation, he lift a hand and brushed a black lock of hair away from the sleeper's face. Enjolras' lips parted without a sound and, so very gently, he caressed the man's temple, his fingers barely touching the warm skin.

Skin... He was touching skin. His teeth found his bottom lip again and he swallowed. His hand left Grantaire's face and he pressed it against his mouth, troubled.

Slowly, he rose from the table and went to the kitchen with unsure steps.

 

Later when R perched himself on his shoulder, he gave him a fig and gently stroke his feathers. The crow let out a deep rumble.

“I love figs.”

Enjolras smiled.

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

Jehan was laying in the garden, between the peas and the carrots. Exactly on Courfeyrac's spot. Or rather, what used to be Courfeyrac's spot. His hands were laced together on his belly and he was looking at the clouds.

The big house was empty now, inhabited only by the lonely witch. There was no one to scare the children away and no one to curl against his hip during the night. Jehan hated it. The silence felt oppressive and the radio was always on nowadays.

He had made a crown with some of the flowers that had grew under his windows and put it on his head to cheer himself up... But there was no one any more to comment on it and chew on the petals.

Jehan closed his eyes to keep the tears against his eyelids. September was here, summer was dying and the last few days of warmth would soon enough be replaced by the wind and the rain. He tightened his fingers around the fabric of his top.

He missed Courfeyrac so much he could feel it in his stomach. He wanted to roll himself into a small ball of hurt, but he feared that he would crush his peas doing so. He stayed flat and sighed instead.

But it had been two months and a half, almost three, and nor R nor Courfeyrac had come back. Even for a quick hello. Jehan understood. He couldn't expect them to come back to the very witch that changed them into animals and kept them as familiars. He dearly hoped that R would turn back into the young man he was, though. Enjolras was the first person Grantaire had taken an interest in, in the five years Jehan had lived with him. Maybe... Maybe it would turn out all right for him. Maybe he was already back to humanity even! That would be-

 

“Jehan?”

Jehan opened his eyes at once and saw a very human Courfeyrac standing above him. He squeaked and hid his face and his eyes behind his hands. He could feel himself blush furiously. Courfeyrac smiled softly.

“Jehan... Look at me.

“I can't. I would roll away but I fear for my peas.”

Courfeyrac laughed a little and sat by Jehan's head.

“I missed you.

“You shouldn't have.

“But I did.

“It's the Stockholm syndrome!” came, muffled, from under the pale, freckled hands. “I made you forget your past life and kept you hostage for four years... That's not okay and you should be very cross with me. Why are you here?”

Courfeyrac sighed and gently forced Jehan's hands away from his face. Jehan opened his eyes and looked at Courfeyrac upside down. His mouth opened under the wave of emotions that took over him at the sight of Courfeyrac and his eyes shut tightly again. He couldn't look at him, not if he wanted to set Courfeyrac free once and for all. He sat up and laced his hands on his knees. His fingers were red and purple from the berries he had made jam of, earlier this day. He still had grains of sugar under his nails and he smiled very softly, feeling like screaming.

 

“I didn't think you'd come back... After four years trapped in here.

“Jehan. Please, look at me.

“No! I can't.” His voice was wavering. “I am so sorry for what I did. It was selfish and childish, and-

“You made me a better person, Jehan.”

 

The witch stilled and blinked a little, not daring to turn around.

Courfeyrac's hands reached for him and Jehan melted under the touch. Emboldened, Courfeyrac engulfed him in his embrace and gently put his nose under the witch's ear.

“You made me a better person. You made me realise how stupid I had been to... To hurt you the way I did. You made me realise how precious my friends were and... How precious you are to me. I remember every single day of those past four years and I know you better than I ever did, better than anyone maybe. I know what you are, what you do... and I love you.”

Jehan mewled a little and Courfeyrac kissed his jaw.

“I love you Jehan, and I miss you and... I don't want to leave here. This is my home. Please... Please let me come back.”

Speechless, Jehan could only nod and Courfeyrac tightened gently his embrace. “I love you.”

The witch let out a small pained noise and turned around to throw his arms around Courfeyrac's neck.

“And I you, oh gods! And I you!”

 

They sat there, deeply merged in each-other for a long time, as if afraid that some unknown force would come and force them apart again.

 

* * *

 

“I saw Grantaire again.”

R looked up to Enjolras and canted his head to the side.

“When?”

 

They had taken on calling the man by his old name to talk about the apparitions.

“During the afternoon. You were asleep in the armchair. He looked better than last time.” Enjolras smiled a little. “There was more colours to his cheeks.”

R hummed from his spot on the kitchen table.

“Tell me frankly... How do I look? I can't even remember my face. All I remember is being kind of ugly.

“No... You...” Enjolras frowned and occupied himself with peeling some carrots. “No.

“No? No what...

“No you're not ugly.”

R huffed.

“Don't spare me, Enjolras. I beg of you.

“What do you want me to say? That I find you hideous? Well, I don't.”

The man looked down at his vegetable and R snapped his beak a few time, incredulous.

“Really?”

Enjolras sighed and fixed his gaze on the bird.

“Why would I lie. I think you're... Well. You're handsome. In a scruffy kind of way. If you like undernourished, pale, bearded men.”

He went back to his carrots.

R wondered if he would blush if he was back in his original body.

He felt like blushing anyway.

 

 

 


	6. The Figs Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, about this kissing theory. Did you try yet?   
> “Leave me alone, R.  
> “Is that a yes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very long... It is so long... I admire authors that manage to always write chapters that long.   
> (If anyone would be interested in beta-reading them, I would love that, because English is not my first language and I'm sure I'm making several mistakes that I can't spot on my own. )

 

 

Two weeks after R came to live with him, Jehan decided to be responsible.

He found a map of Paris (slightly outdated, but still accurate enough, he thought), picked the pendulum on display in the guest room and laid everything out on the kitchen table.

Under R's careful watch, he hummed along with the radio and extended his arm above the map.

“I think I've seen this once in Charmed.

“Hush you!” frowned Jehan. “And I'll have you know that Charmed is a big bunch of crap... Everyone knows that you don't use agave in anything else than sex potions.”

R huffed and started to mutter under his breath about how, off course, everyone was well versed into witchcraft and it was actually very common to get transformed into a crow in the middle of a café by a young man with terrible clothes (at this, Jehan shot him a filthy look) and too much freckles.

“So... are all gingers witches? Because your friend, the one that travel via wallpaper, he is ginger too, not that you are very ginger, it's more like vaguely red-ish blond, but anyway, is it true?

“No. But once, during the big European witch-hunt, there was a rumour saying that freckles, or beauty marks, were magic spots from which demons would drink milk on the witches bodies.” He smiled. “Of course inquisitors had to inspect every last one, on every single centimetres of our bodies. In their god's name, obviously.”

R snickered.

“Obviously.”

Jehan smiled and concentrated on his pendulum. When it stopped, he leaned over the table and noted the address on his notebook. He turned to R and presented his opened hand to him.

“Spit.   
“What?”

But before he could say more, he had to open his beak when something cold suddenly appeared on his tongue. Jehan retrieved the key and smiled sweetly. R opened wide eyes and shook his head.

“This is highly traumatizing, witch.”

Jehan laughed a little.

“I am going out, R. Help yourself to the fruit bowl if you want. But the apples outside are just about perfect.”

He smiled a last time, grabbed his coat, a big leather bag, and went out in Paris busy streets.

The address was in the 20tharrondissement, not too far from the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. It was a small flat in a big building. You could hear the neighbours through the walls.

Jehan opened the door to the habitation and took it all in. The impressive collection of vinyls and tapes, the numerous postcards on the corridor wall, the very small kitchen, the fight sticks in the umbrella holder... He looked around, his lip between his teeth and started to put everything in the bottomless leather bag. He had bought it from Montparnasse for almost nothing. Jehan thought that the blood stains on the bag were probably the reason the man wanted to get ride of it, but Jehan was not going to say no to such a nice item.

When, at last, he entered the bedroom, he gasped at the paintings on the walls. Angels and saints painted in gold and light, Greek gods in red and white, deep blue seas and dark green forests... Jehan almost felt overwhelmed and terrified. How could someone with so much to paint could be so frivolous with love... He almost turned back to change R into a human once again, but thought better of it. Instead he took his time to take in every detail and every colour.

At last, he stayed in the door opening and put both his hand on the wall, slowly brushing his finger toward the exit and with a heavy humming sound, the painted figures started to shift toward him as if the witch was moving a simple fresco drawn on paper. Slowly, with much care, he started to roll up the wall into itself and finally found himself with a big scroll of painted canvas and four white walls.

 

He took the metro to go back home, the bag was a little bit too heavy to walk all the way.

He was glad he went. When Grantaire would turn back (soon, he hoped) he would get all his belonging back. And his wonderful walls.

 

Five years later, the bag was still gathering dust in the attic.

Grantaire's name was written in green ink on the label hanging from the handle and even Jehan didn't look at it twice anymore when he went up there.

 

* * *

 

The morning light filtered through the curtains of his bedroom and Enjolras slowly opened his eyes. It was almost half past six and he had class in two hours, but his alarm clock wouldn't start until seven. He sighed and turned over, snuggling closer to the warm body by his side. It only took him a couple of second before he started to freak out and recoil so hard he fell out of his bed, bringing the sheets with him. When he peeked out from under the bed linen, R was looking at him in wild panic.

“What happened? What's going on? Why are you on the floor?

“You were in my bed!!!”

 

The crow stared for a moment and opened his beak in what Enjolras could start to recognize as a very amused and mocking fashion, but he interject before the bird could start anything.

“I mean, Grantaire was in my bed. And it startled me.

“Oh...”

They looked at each other for a moment before Enjolras stood up, still wrapped in his bed sheets, and silently made his way to the bathroom.

R let his head fall on the mattress and hid himself behind his wings.

 

*

 

It happened again. In fact, it happened so often after the first time that, after a while, Enjolras would get surprised if he didn't find Grantaire by his side in the morning. He would wake up and look at his left, finding the other man lying there, fully clothed as always (his jumper smelled of turpentine and Enjolras wondered what kind of man Grantaire used to be), and after a few seconds of guiltys contemplation, he would get up and prepare himself for the day ahead.

 

R would say that if he was to turn back to humanity in his sleep, he should at least preserve the health of his back by sleeping in a proper bed. And Enjolras found himself reluctant to find any counterargument. When R started to cackle at his silent agreement (“ _Oh, Endymion. Je jalouse presque la lune. Elle, au moins, pourra te voir dormir._ ”), Enjolras sighed and tossed a pen his way, projectile that R had no trouble avoiding, and the blond man was rewarded by another bout of croaking laughter.

 

The more Enjolras saw Grantaire, the more healthy the dormant man would look. Pink would come back to his cheeks and he started to fill his clothes a little bit better.

Sometimes on Sundays, but not too often, he would secretly indulge himself and go back to sleep for an hour or two, closer to Grantaire than when he woke up. Never touching, but close enough to feel the warmth.

Guilt would follow him for the rest of the day. In those particular days, he would be nicer to the bird, giving him a larger bit of the pear he was eating or even letting him babble away on some political subject they chose to disagree on that very day.

More often than not, Enjolras would find himself on Sundays afternoon, with a hand firmly placed over his mouth to hide a smile or even, precious rarity as it was, the start of a giggle.

 

* * *

 

Courfeyrac came back on a Tuesday. He came back with all his clothes, all his books and two years worth of repressed kisses and touches for Jehan.

At first they tried to sleep apart, but the very next Sunday morning found them together in Jehan's bed.

They couldn't remember which of them woke up before the other, but hot mouths and kisses were the first thing they both had wanted. It turned into hungry gasps and burning skin and Jehan riding Courfeyrac, both their sexes in his hand.

In the end, they both stayed in bed well after eleven and ate a very late breakfast at the kitchen table, smiling (and blushing in Jehan's case) at each other.

 

Later this afternoon, Jehan was in the garden, hanging his wet laundry on the clothesline, and Courfeyrac was handing him clothes pins when needed.

Between two pairs of socks, Jehan let his eyes wander over Courfeyrac's form and smiled very softly.

“I still don't understand how you could have forgiven me.”

Courfeyrac smiled at him and laid down on the grass, between the peas and the carrots. He took a big breath and crossed his arms under his head..

“My darling love... I had four years to forgive you for the transformation spell. You remember the first year I spent here?

“Yes. You were very unhappy.

“Yes. I was very angry with you. I knew you had changed me, but not why, and I was scared because I couldn't remember who I was.”

Jehan blushed slightly in shame and busied himself with the laundry.

“I came to terms with it, though. The second year, I learnt to forgive you a little, I guess. It wasn't too bad to live with you, I liked it, even. You were kind, and lovely, and magical.” he smiled. “I'm not saying it was easy. But it was a nice life. It took me a while to separate what you did and who you were, and start to like you without necessarily forgetting what you did. What I'm saying is that... what you did was...

“It was terribly unfair of me and a terrible mistake?” Jehan looked at him with a thin smile.

Courfeyrac shrugged and pushed himself up to lay on his elbows and look at the witch.

“I understand why you did it, now. And I am so very sorry that I treated you that way. But... yes... Maybe four years as a cat was a bit harsh.”

Jehan sighed and put the, now empty, laundry basket on the bench under the window. He then sat near Courfeyrac's head.

“I'm sorry I was a coward. I... I was afraid of turning you back for egoistical and dreadful reasons.

“I get it. And well...” he smiled. “Look at it the other way, three years in, I fell in love with you all over again!”

Jehan blushed but couldn't keep his smile in check.

“Listen, Jehan.” Courfeyrac sat straighter and took Jehan's hands in his. “I came to terms with you turning me into a cat almost three years ago. I'm not saying you were right to do it, and I'm still a bit afraid that you will do it again-

“I would never!!!”

Courfeyrac smiled and pressed a kiss on the witch's cheek.

“I'm willing to believe you. Because I love you. And I want to be with you. But what I'm saying is that it's okay now. I'm really ready to pass on to something else. I made you suffer, and you reacted on you own, magical, way. I guess if you hadn't been a witch you would have released your terrible wrath on me anyway, if differently.”

 

Jehan bit his lips and frowned sadly.

“I just can't forgive myself...

“And I can't believe I ever could cheat on you, but we'll get over it.”

They smiled at each other and Courfeyrac took Jehan in his arms as they laid back on the grass.

“Now... Tell me about the Summer Solstice celebration. Who was with the gods this year? ”

 

The furious blush on Jehan's cheek told Courfeyrac all he wanted to know.

 

* * *

 

“You know...” started R one Wednesday evening after an ABC meeting. “Now that we know that I do turn human when I sleep, maybe the answer is so obvious that we never thought about it.”

From his spot on the sofa, Enjolras frowned, looking away from his book and to the bird.

“What do you mean?

“I mean... I am cursed by an evil witch-

“Jehan is not evil... Slightly amoral maybe.

“I am cursed by a witch anyway, and I tend to sleep a lot in your bed. Come on Enjolras! Don't you see it?”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows and closed his book, his attention now completely on Grantaire.

“Are you trying to get me to re-enact Sleeping Beauty? Did you know that in the original tale the prince raped her while she was asleep, and she only woke up 9 month later, when the birth contractions started to become too painful to endure? Then her mother in law tried to eat her children.”

R was gaping at him in shocked disbelief.

“How... Why? No!!! Gods, no! I knew about Little Red Riding Hood eating her grand mother, but this is terrible. It's even worse than Donkey Skin! And her father tried to have children with the poor girl. Enjolras, this is not what I had in mind when I started this conversation! Why did you do that?”

Enjolras bit his lower lip to keep himself from chuckling.

“Ah? Sorry, please, go on.”

The crow huffed and ruffled his feathers in disturbed chills.

“All I'm saying is that, if one day, you would found yourself wanting to kiss me while I'm human to verify the kissing hypothesis again, I wouldn't be adverse.”

 

Enjolras eyes him sternly and said in a no-nonsense voice.

“R. I'm not doing that.”

 

*

 

He was doing that. R's gods forgive him, he was going to do it. It was worth a shot anyway. Wasn't it?

This is why, on this particular Friday morning, Enjolras was kneeling on the bed near Grantaire, asking himself if it was really all right to kiss someone who was sleeping, if the aforementioned someone had previously told you that it was, in fact, all right to do it.

He sighed very silently and with much gentleness and precautions, he bent forward toward the man. Grantaire was not ugly, despite what he seemed to think about himself. If Enjolras was completely honest with himself (he usually wasn't, not on this subject), he found Grantaire to be quite charming. Certainly not beautiful or even handsome... But there was something to him that pleased Enjolras in a way that no one had done before.

Softly, he pressed his lips on Grantaire's, closing his eyes in the same movement. He felt a little light-headed and his arms were trembling. The man's lips were warm under his, and Enjolras lingered a few more second before pulling away, his eyes half opened.

 

He watched for an entire minute but nothing happened and he felt himself deflate a little. His heart was beating so hard in his chest that when he looked down, he could see the fabric on his torso move with every pulsation.

He put a hand to his forehead and sighed a little, berating himself for his foolish behaviour. He didn't remain any longer in the bedroom, and went in the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

 

*

 

“So, about this kissing theory. Did you try yet?

“Leave me alone, R.

“Is that a yes?”

 

*

 

“No but really, you should try and kiss me, Enjolras.”

The young man frowned and focused more intently on his papers.

“Enjolras... Enjolras! Enjolras. Enjooo-

“ENOUGH!”

Enjolras raised his arms to his ceiling and turned to R, savage. His blond curls falling in front of his eyes and the red on his cheek making the blue of his irises painfully acute. R closed his beak, afraid and awestruck.

“Enough, R. For the love of those gods you talk about, enough. Don't ask me anymore about that kiss. It didn't work.”

Enjolras seemed out of breath with anger and distress and R stilled. The student closed his eyes and let his head fall in his hands.

 

“So... You did kissed m- him.” R sounded unsure.

“I kissed you, yes.“

 

There was a moment of silence and R let out a howl of pure sadness and deception. Enjolras closed his eyes tighter.

“I'm... So sorry it didn't work, R... I really am.

“I don't... I... You kissed me and I don't even remember! I can't... I can't even rem-”

 

The wail was here again, rage and defeat this time, and Enjolras looked up to see a very human Grantaire looking at him with frustrated tears in his eyes. It seemed as if his heart and his breath had stopped and Enjolras, once again, felt light-headed. He couldn't understand what was happening.

 

“I hate this...” Grantaire was close to tears now. “I hate that I can't kiss you, Enjolras. I hate that you wake up in the morning with me by your side and I can't even close my arms around you. I hate that I can't go outside with you and take your hand in mine, smile at you when... When you have this look like you don't know if you want to be pissed at me or laugh, and you hide it behind your hands, like it's a shameful thing. I am... I am so jealous of you, Enjolras, for having a little bit of this. I just... Want to... Be with you.”

 

Enjolras was looking at him, pale and wide eyed, still as a statue. It made Grantaire falter in his words. Enjolras stood up and very slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, he pointed to Grantaire's chest until his finger touched the wool of his pullover.

Grantaire looked down at the finger and, seeing himself for the first time in five years, he did the only reasonable thing. He panicked.

 

There was a explosion of movement and sound and, a few lost feathers later, he was back to a crow, hidden under the chest of drawers.

 

They didn't talk about it for a long while.

 

* * *

 

Joly and Lesgle visited again the night after the Fall Equinox.

Jehan and Courfeyrac had spent the evening at Musichetta's, celebrating with much food, sweet wine and home-made treats.

“Musichetta's apple tart is incredible. Did you know that she can guess you favourite dessert by reading the line of your hand?

“Really??

“What do you think?”

 

It was now almost three on the first day of November and Jehan was humming gently along the radio in the kitchen, preparing different pasts with the herbs he got the previous evening. Courfeyrac was sitting on the kitchen counter and handing the witch the instruments or ingredients he asked for. When the door bell rang, he went to see who was at the door and his face broke into a big smile when he saw the two men standing in the garden, shielding themselves from the slight rain with an ill-looking umbrella.

“Joly! Bossuet! Come in, come in!”

 

The two men entered the house and smiled at Jehan.

“Hello! We brought candies, because yesterday was Halloween!

Jehan laughed and set his work aside to go and kiss his two visitors on the cheeks.

“Hello to you two! Please, please, take off you coats. I started a fire in the chimney, you can sit by it! Don't go and catch a cold, now. Oh, are those your mother's chocolate toffee, Joly? I love them! Sit, I'll fetch some tea.”

 

He disappeared in the kitchen and the three friends sat on the mismatched armchairs.

“So, how is it to live with Jehan? It's nice of him to let you live in his spare room!”

Courfeyrac stared at Bossuet and gave him an amused smile.

“Well... I don't sleep in the spare room, but it's very nice to live here.”

Bossuet gave him an unimpressed look and Joly started to laugh.

“Only you, Courfeyrac. Is it serious between you two?”

Courfeyrac smiled a bit stupidly and nodded.

“Yeah... Yeah it is serious.

“What is serious?” asked Jehan, coming back with a tray full of cups and a teapot. Joly got up to help him put everything on the coffee table while Bossuet exclaimed.

“You and Courfeyrac, of course! We didn't know you were together! Courfeyrac, you should have told us before!

“Ah well...” He looked up at Jehan who blushed and lowered his head shyly. Joly poured the tea and handed a cup to the young witch.

“I'm not surprised. Jehan is a lovely person.”

This only made Jehan blush even more and hide his face under his free hand. They all laughed and Courfeyrac made him sat by his side.

 

“Oh, by the way, is your cat back?”

Jehan and Courfeyrac looked straight at Bossuet who blinked, confused. Courfeyrac turned to Jehan.

“You had a cat?”

Jehan widened his eyes at him and pinched him gently.

“Yes. A gigantic beast of a cat. Almost as aggravating as you. But I think he's gone. I haven't seen him in months now. I hope he is happy wherever he is. Living his little cat life.”

He smiled at Bossuet, who smiled back. Joly hummed softly.

“Oh, and R is still with Enjolras, right?”

Jehan frowned.

“Well... Normally, yes. Have you not seen him?

“Oh, yes yes... But you know, they aren't always together. It's hilarious how they took to each others. At first Enjolras looked like he wanted to get rid of R, but now he even talks to him when he thinks aloud. Not like the bird could answer of course.” He laughed and the two men in front of him exchanged a glance. “But yes. Now, instead of lingering until late to work on his papers in the café, Enjolras actually goes home without putting too much of a fight. I think the company is good for him.

“And R is still completely infatuated!” Bossuet added with a laugh.

 

Jehan smiled.

“That's good to hear. Now... My friend Musichetta made a lot of her marvellous apple tart, and I have left overs. Who wants a slice?”

 

* * *

 

“What do you want for Yule, Enjolras?”

Enjolras looked up to the crow and frowned a little.

“Yule?

“Winter solstice.”

Enjolras hummed a little and smiled for himself. It was the tenth of December and he had yet to think about Christmas. He had to remember to find some appropriate gifts for his friends and for R.

When he turned his gaze back to Grantaire, the man was smiling at him, his chin in his hand.

Since the unspeakable outburst, Grantaire was turning human more often, even when awake. It would last from a few second to an entire minute, but Enjolras was enjoying it all the same. The only real problem was going out. They couldn't take the risk of Grantaire turning at any moment in public.

He smiled back.

 

“I don't know. What do you want? Is there a special tradition for Yule, or... ?

“Not really. Not one we could celebrate anyway. I know Jehan does stuff with his magical bunch of friends. In the Summer they have a sort of celebration, but it's an orgy, really. In Winter it's more solemn.”

Enjolras hummed again and played with his pen.

“You didn't tell me what you wanted.”

“Ah.” Grantaire laughed and between one blink of eye and the other, he was a crow again. “Are you really going to get me something?

“Why not.

“In this case, I'd like some good paint.”

 

There was a silence and Enjolras asked very softly.

“Paint? What for?”

The crow rocked a bit from left to right and moved his wings.

“I don't know. I think I used to be a painter.

“Oh. That explain the turpentine.

“The turpentine?”

Enjolras flushed a little and looked down to his crossword.

“You smell like turpentine when you're human.”

 

R said nothing but moved to sit closer to Enjolras.

 

*

 

Enjolras had been engrossed in his book for hours when he heard footstep behind him and he couldn't help but smile. He liked when Grantaire was human long enough to walk around or talk a little.

When a pair of very warm hand pressed on his shoulders he closed his eyes and relaxed in the impromptu massage. Thumbs pressed on his neck, the base of his skull and found their way in his hair. He sighed softly in pleasure and when the hands went back to his shoulders, he let his head fall backward against Grantaire's belly. He opened his eyes to look up at the man.

Grantaire always had this tenderness in his eyes that would shake Enjolras to the core and surprise him.

“Take a break, Enjolras.”

 

The student nodded and stood up to stretch. When he turned around, the crow was perched on his chair. Disappointment burned cold in his stomach.

 

*

 

“You should shave”

Grantaire laughed and passed a paint-stained hand in his beard. 

“Yeah right. I'm afraid after almost six years of not having hands and beard, I'm a little out of practice. And a barber is out of question.

“I could do it.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras with surprise, and smiled a little.

“You? You would do it?

“Yes. If you want to.

“Now?”

Enjolras nodded and made a head gesture toward the bathroom.

“While you still have a face.”

Grantaire laughed and followed him out of the room. 

 

Enjolras made him sit on the edge of the bath and they looked at each others a few second before Enjolras turned to grab a few razors and the shaving cream. 

“Leave me a moustache.”

Enjolras scoffed and looked at him half seriously.

“No. What if I let you have your moustache and you turn back before I can shave it off, and I have to look at it every time you turn back to human after that? I veto the moustache.”

Grantaire was laughing at this point and when Enjolras stood between his legs with an actual shaving brush full of shaving cream, he put his hands on the man's hips and closed his eyes. 

“Go on then. Do what you must.”

Enjolras smiled and, one soft hand on Grantaire's neck, started to spread the cream on the painter's cheeks. No one said a word for a full minute before Grantaire opened a curious eye.

“Where did you get the shaving brush? 

“It was a gift from my grand father. But I don't need to shave that much. So I never got around to actually use it. 

“Until now.”

Enjolras smiled at him and Grantaire pushed the tip of his fingers under Enjolras' shirt to caress the skin.

“Until now, yes.

“What if you shave one of my cheeks and I turn back before you can do the other?”

 

The idea made Enjolras shake a little in repressed laughter and raise his eyebrows.

“Still better than the moustache.

“Moustache are nice.”

Enjolras hummed neutrally and put the brush aside to contemplate Grantaire's face, now covered with white cream. Grantaire gave him a gigantic grin. 

“Give me a kiss!”

Enjolras put his hand on the other's forehead and pushed him away with a frown, but the smile on his face couldn't go away.

“When you head is not covered in foam! 

“Oooh. And then you'll kiss me?”

 

Enjolras stared and Grantaire stared back, his hands still on the skin of his waist. He smiled, caressing the painter's neck.

“If you stay still, maybe I'll kiss you.”

 

Grantaire kept his eyes on Enjolras' face during the whole process but was incredibly accommodating, turning his head when needed and standing very still under the very soft hands. 

When Enjolras gently dragged a towel on his face to get the small remnant of cream off, he smiled.

“So... Am I a beard person or what?”

Enjolras smiled and put his hands on Grantaire's shoulders.

“I like both.”

 

Grantaire pulled him closer, and Enjolras bent his head a little.

They kissed.

 

*

 

“No figs?

“It's not the season... I got kiwis and lychees.”

The bird hopped on the kitchen table and picked at a peeled lychee. 

“I like it. Not as much as figs, of course.

 

Enjolras shook his head with a smile, and focused on his kiwis. He was putting a fruit salad together for the dessert.

“There is nothing you love more than figs.

“That's not true.”

Enjolras smiled gently, falsely incredulous, while he cut into the fruit.

“Don't lie to yourself, Grantaire.”

When he looked up, the man was smiling at him, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and Enjolras' heart skipped a beat for a second. Defiantly, as to dare him to turn back into a bird, he started at him, almost unblinking. Softly, he asked.

“What do you love more than figs, then?

“You know.” Grantaire looked down at the other man's fingers, sticky with the fruit juice. But Enjolras refused to look away.

“Tell me anyway... I want to hear it.

Grantaire looked at him very tenderly and smiled a little sadly.

“You know I love you more than figs.”

 

Enjolras' half finished smile was the last thing he saw before he collapsed on the floor, lost in deep and viscous darkness. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very overwhelmed by the reception the last chapter received! I even got the most marvellous illustration:  
> http://tanssintaivaankannenalla.tumblr.com/post/49790290669  
> And, you know, it's the kind of thing you see happening to authors you like and you sigh wistfully, wishing that one day you would get art too. And frankly, that's the best feeling. The art is gorgeous and I encourage all of you to check out what other things the artist does.  
> It also turned out that you people couldn't find my tumblr url. (it's in the profile page though.) But here it is: lapieuvrebleue.tumblr.com  
> And as my girlfriend hates les misérables (she really does...) You can also find some drawing and fictions updates and little info here, on the secret self-indulging blog: juin1832.tumblr.com  
> Feel free to come visit and talk if you'd like or anything, really. I speak French and English. =)  
> Also! If you'd like more crow!R, m-percent on tumblr does this amazing Wind in the Willows verse of Les Misérables:  
> http://m-percent.tumblr.com/post/50162367146/whoa-i-didnt-expect-everyone-to-be-this
> 
> You have no idea how grateful I am for all of you, who left kudos and comments here or on tumblr and generally liked my fiction. It really means a lot, and it makes me very happy!  
> I was not expecting all of this, so thank you again.


	7. The Hammer of the Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mathieu Javert crossed himself and kissed his leather clad finger before looking up to the statue of the Virgin Mary above him on the chapel wall. God was with him in his righteous quest and for this he was made stronger against evil.  
> The witch would repent or suffer their heathen fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter describes religious fanaticism. I wanted you all to know that I don't think all Christians are crazy. As much as I dislike organised religions, I really think that it can be something spiritually very important and positive in someone's life. I wasn't sure if I wanted to use religion as a point of discord as it is so often done in fictions, but in the context of witchcraft, it historically fits. Also, for information, every non-magical person appearing in this story so far is atheist. (Except Bossuet who's agnostic.) If anything triggers you, please tell me so I can tag it.  
> I really love you all for reading and commenting and being generally clever and lovely.  
> I also am sorry I let an entire month go by without any update, there was a little micmac going on, but it's okay now.)

 

 

The sky was very clear for a January night, it was going to be very cold the next day.

'Good', the man thought. He was always working better in cold weather, more prompt to quick reasoning. His breath created a small cloud of mist in the fresh Parisian air and he tightened his gloves around his wrists.

There had been words, murmurs, of a witch in the _Marais_. Some informations had filtered through his usual network and he had come all the way from Montreuil surMer a few days ago to investigate beforehand. But the letter in his hand was all he needed to start his work at the very minute.

Prouvaire... Yes. The name was known to him. A woman near Toulouse used to have this very name. He remembered quite well for it was him that brought her to God's justice. She must have had a child, then.

 

Mathieu Javert crossed himself and kissed his leather clad finger before looking up to the statue of the Virgin Mary above him on the chapel wall. God was with him in his righteous quest and for this he was made stronger against evil.

The witch would repent or suffer their heathen fate.

 

* * *

 

This particular January morning was very cold and Jehan woke up with shivers. He turned around in his bed and pressed himself more tightly against Courfeyrac's warm body. The other man made a small noise and closed his arms around Jehan.

“Good morning, love.”

Jehan smiled and kissed the nearest patch of skin.

“Good morning. I love you.”

Courfeyrac let out a small happy sigh and closed his eyes, ready to fall back asleep for a little while. It took twenty minutes to Jehan to actually muster the courage to get out of bed and into the glacial air of the room.

“It's so cold today... I'm going to burn some logs in the wood stove downstairs.” He shivered and put his arms around himself, bending down to kiss Courfeyrac a last time. He turned around to get some clothes on and Courfeyrac jumped out of bed, shrinking on himself when hit by the freezing air.

“Oh sweet gods, it really is cold!” He wrapped himself around Jehan's naked body and kissed the side of his neck, pressing his torso on the witch's back. “We should stay in bed all day! We could die of the cold you know! Better stay together under the duvet! Jehan... It's a matter of life and death.”

 

The witch shook his head, a large smile on his face and turned his head to look at Courfeyrac.

“We need to eat. And I need to light a fire because I don't want you to die and you hate being cold.”

Courfeyrac sighed.

“You're right... You know what, let's get dressed and while you do your witchy stuff, I'll go out and buy some pastries. How does that sound?

“It sounds perfect.”

Jehan turned around and kissed his lover, eyes opened and hands on hips.

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

 

Later, Jehan wrapped three scarves around Courfeyrac's head and throat and with a kiss on the nose, set him free into the harsh cold world.

 

*

 

Courfeyrac was humming a song under his breath, almost skipping on the wet pavement of Paris, a warm paper bag filled with _croissants_ , _pains au chocolat_ and an _oreillette à l'abricot_ especially for Jehan, dangling from his left hand. Thinking of the witch, he couldn't help but smile in his scarves and jump a little bit at the sheer joy bubbling in his belly. He felt elated and light enough to walk on air.

 

He turned the corner of the street with a little hop and his hand curled around one of the bar of the big house fence. The fence was open and he frowned a little, certain that he had closed it when he had left. He entered the garden, closing the fence twice this time, to be sure, and turned toward the house.

The front door was wide opened and Courfeyrac faltered. Why would Jehan leave the door open if he was going to start a fire in the stove? He walked briskly to the door and stopped at the sight he was graced with. The pastry bag fell on the floor and a croissant rolled away to stop under the rose bushes.

The living room was destroyed. Most of the chairs were knocked down and the coffee table was on its side. The kitchen table had slide toward the door on a good meter and all Courfeyrac could think of was that Jehan might have grabbed one of the legs to prevent whatever had come for him to drag him through the door. He blinked once, twice and rushed inside, pastries forgotten on the doorsteps.

He ran upstairs, calling Jehan's name in panic, receiving no answers. His hands were trembling and he had to press them against his mouth to ground himself.

There was no one but him in the house.

Jehan was gone.

 

He stood there, powerless for a minutes and suddenly moved toward the phone.

“Feuilly... I have to call Feuilly. He'll know what to do.” He composed the number and closed his eyes, waiting for a reply.

“Allo?

“Feuilly!! It's Courfeyrac, I.. Jehan is gone, the house has been trashed! I was just out for twenty minutes, I don't know what happened, Feuilly! I don't know where Jehan is! He wouldn't leave like that, I think something bad happened and-

“Courfeyrac.” Feuilly's voice was calm and firm. “Calm down, please. I'll be here in a few minutes, just stay put. Don't go out, lock the door.”

The phone was disconnected and Courfeyrac looked at it for a few seconds before moving to the door as instructed. He grabbed the paper bag with shaking hands and locked the door.

 

Courfeyrac was fiddling with the (apparently broken) radio when a loud noise came for upstairs. He jumped a little and put the radio down.

“It's me! It's me, don't panic. I was in a hurry and I took the first exit I could find for the house. I forgot it lead to the toilettes...”

Courfeyrac let out a deep breath and sat back on the coffee table as the ginger magician was walking down the stairs.

“Feuilly, you scared me half to death.

“Sorry.”

The magician entered the floor and stopped net in his tracks, taking in the state of the house and turning pale.

“I see...” He looked up at Courfeyrac and frowned. “How are you feeling?

“I'm... fucking scared for Jehan! I don't know what happened!!! I should have stay with him and...

“Hugo, it's not your fault. If Jehan couldn't get out of this with his abilities, I doubt you could have prevent it. I mean... No offence.”

Courfeyrac's lips tightened a little but he couldn't deny the truth in Feuilly's words. The newcomer looked around a last time and bit his lips.

“I might have an idea of what happened... I need to call someone. Can I?”

Courfeyrac gestured toward the phone and watched Feuilly composed the number and greet the person at the other end of the line. They exchanged a few innocent words, when Feuilly paled drastically. He grabbed the side of the small table holding the phone with his free hand, his knuckles white.

“Are you sure he is in town? When did he arrived? _Merde._ ” He turned his eyes to Courfeyrac but kept on talking on the phone. “Are you sure? What does Eponine says? When? _Madeleine et toutes les putes du Pape_...”

 

He put a hand over his mouth and Courfeyrac felt like fainting. This couldn't be good. He was going to lose Jehan. He was going to lose the love of his life after all they went through. He was going to lose Jehan... He was going to...

In a daze, he looked around, put one of the armchairs up and sat heavily in it, his head in his hands.

 

“Ok... Thank you, Gavroche. Yeah. Call if anything new pops up. Thanks. Stay safe.”

Courfeyrac looked up, his eyes filled with dread.

“What is going on? Where is Jehan?

“Hugo...” Feuilly faltered. “It seems that Jehan was taken by an inspector.

“What's that?

“It's a sort of modern inquisitor. They work under the Vatican, of course they have a new name for it, but it is still basically the Inquisition. I am... so sorry.”

Courfeyrac had to put a hand on his mouth to mute his sudden urge to scream.

 

“He is... Is he dead?

“Eponine says that he is still alive. She's a seer. She 'saw' Javert taking Jehan, and Gavroche was just about to call.”

Courfeyrac looked up at him.

“Javert?

“The inspector. You have to know, Courfeyrac... Javert was the one to take Jehan's mother a while ago. Jehan was only ten years old and... Well. Javert isn't known for his clemency. He cares little for what is not his god's law. Jehan was lucky to have been away that day. He was fostered by Musichetta's mother after that.

“His mother she was...

The magician took his hat off and fiddled with it. “She was burnt... I'm so sorry.”

 

Courfeyrac looked at him and his breath stopped. He couldn't breath, he couldn't... White spots started to dance in front of his eyes and Feuilly's voice was indistinct to his ears.

He thought he could hear someone screaming, and between a blink and the other realised it was himself. Grief was pulling ugly sobs from his throat and he found himself unable to move, fat tears running down his cheeks.

Feuilly took him in his arms and Courfeyrac latched unto him, weeping on his shoulder and calling for Jehan.

Feuilly bit his lip, swallowed his own distress and hold him tighter.

 

* * *

 

When Jehan came back to himself, he was tied to a chair in a middle of a cold and dark room. The only light was provided by small skylights, barely large enough to fit an adult head through them. It looked like a attic of some sorts, mostly made of wood.

He moved his fingers and hissed a little when the blood rushed back to them, filling his hands with a painful ant-like sensations.

Looking around again, his eyes stopped on the hunched figure working at a nearby desk. Jehan's heart stopped dead in his chest.

“No... No, please no...”

 

The man at the desk turned around and frowned.

“I see that you are awake. Good. I have some formality papers to fill before I can start.”

Jehan was pale as a sheet, his vision narrowing on the man's face.

“Inspector Javert...

“Ah. You know me, then. I take it you know why your are here and why my work is. You have been found guilty of witchcraft and breaking God's laws.

“No, I-

“Are you denying your sins?”

Jehan closed his mouth and looked down at his knees, petrified. The inspector nodded once and took a file from the desktop.

“Please state your name.

When Jehan refused to answer, Javert tightened his jaw.

“A refusal to cooperate will be taken as a positive answer. Are you, yes or no, Monsieur Jean Prouvaire?”

Confronted with Jehan's silence once again, Javert wrote a little note on his papers.

“You will find, Monsieur Prouvaire, that I am not an unnecessarily cruel man. I am sure you will come to understand that it is in your best interest to be absolutely honest with me.” He looked down at his papers and closed the file. “Was your mother the late Agathe Prouvaire? Found guilty of witchcraft in 1997?

Jehan's head snapped back up, his eyes were a storm of unspent rage.

“How _dare_ you speak of her?”

 

Javert lifted an eyebrow.

“She is with God, now.

“You killed her! You are the only monster here, she was a good woman!

“She was a witch. She brought it on herself. She consorted with the demon and she atoned for her sins. Just as you will, boy.”

 

Jehan spit at Javert's feet and the man raised a disdainful eyebrow. In two powerful strides he was close enough to violently slap the young witch's face. Jehan gasped and blinked, as blood started to drip from his nose.

“your mother too, was unrepentant. But God gave me ways and means to make her see the light.

 

The young man could only glare and Javert slapped him again with his gloved hand.

“Don't try any of your tricks, witch. The evil eye has no effect on me.”

 

Jehan coughed when the blood filling his nose began to impede his breathing. His nails where digging in his palms.

“You are mad. You are utterly mad! You and your god!”

 

The inspector eyed him a mere seconds and turned around without a single word, leaving the young man still shouting in the darkness of the attic.

 

* * *

 

The ringing phone was what woke Courfeyrac up. He had fallen asleep after his tears had dried up, and Feuilly had laid him down on the sofa.

He moved his head around to watch Feuilly get to the telephone and frown.

“What? Jules Enjolras? Oh! The blond guy, yes. Really? Now? You have some bloody timing, man. Can you come over here with him? I DON'T CARE HOW!” Feuilly put a hand to his eyes. “No, I'm sorry, we have a difficult situation in our hands right now. Yes. I'll come get you both. I'll be here in a few minutes. Do you have wallpaper or just painted walls? Ah. And your corridor? Perfect. What's your address? Very well. Be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

He hanged up and turned to Courfeyrac, looking tired and overwhelmed.

“Your friend Grantaire just turned back human. Congratulations. He is passed out and apparently oozing black goo. I'm going to fetch them and bring them here. Will you be all right?”

 

Courfeyrac nodded and stood up.

“I'll... Get the spare room ready for R.

“Good.” He walked to the man and put a hand on his shoulder. “Gavroche and Eponine are trying to locate Javert. They might swing by. We'll get Jehan back. Ok?”

Courfeyrac nodded again and tried a small smile. Feuilly took what poor facial expression he could get out of Courfeyrac and squeezed his shoulder.

“I'll be back soon.”

 

*

 

It took twenty minutes to Feuilly to fetch the two men and come back to the big house. They came out of the paper in the spare room where Courfeyrac was waiting and the three of them managed to lay an unconscious Grantaire on the bed. His nose and mouth were overflowed by black liquid and it kept leaking slowly from his face and on the white linen. 

Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac, face pale and the two men embraced each other in mutual comfort. Feuilly was putting Grantaire under the sheets when Enjolras stepped back, more composed. 

“Where is Jehan?”

 

When Feuilly and Courfeyrac's faces turned into darker expression, Enjolras frowned.

“What's going on?”

Courfeyrac sat on one of the chair by the bookshelves.

“He was taken away by... By the inquisition. 

“What?”

Feuilly stepped closer.

“It's a little more complicated than this. But yes, that's a apt summary. They came this morning while Hugo was out and they took Jehan. 

“... I... really? What is going to happen to him? 

“HE'S GOING TO DIE!!! That's what going to happen to him!”

Courfeyrac erupted, his hands in his hair and sorrow deeply marked on his face. 

“He's going to get burnt on a pyre and there will be no more sun, and no more stars, and no more magic, and no more Hugo...”

Enjolras swallowed hard, taken aback and put his hand on Courfeyrac's head, going slowly through his curls. 

“Hugo... I...” He turned to Feuilly. “Is there anything to do?”

 

Feuilly nodded, face soft but sad.

“Actually there is. There might be something you could do.” He sat by Courfeyrac. “Eponine and Gavroche are working on finding where Javert keeps Jehan. But even once it will be found, I'm afraid the place will be far too dangerous for magic users. It'll be barded with wards, and we can't risk it. What we need is...non users. But going on your own, even without magic... It's too dangerous. You need to have other people with you. People you trust with your life.”

Enjolras looked at him for a few seconds and nodded.

“All right. We're going to do this. You hear, Hugo?” He squeezed Courfeyrac's neck gently. “We're going to get Jehan back. I'm going to call Combeferre and the others. And we'll help. No one is going to die.”

Courfeyrac nodded slowly and Feuilly smiled a little.

“There is a phone downstairs if you need it.”

 

*

 

Combeferre, Enjolras and Courfeyrac were making coffee in the kitchen, salvaging what pastry was still edible in the paper bag, and Feuilly was engrossed in his discussion with Joly and Bossuet when the last of the unfortunate guests pushed open the front door. Feuilly looked up for a second, then went back to Joly. But his words faltered as he realised who had just passed the door. He looked up again.

“Nicolas...”

 

Bahorel turned around and his eyes locked with the magician's.

“Paul. You're here too. Why? What is going on exactly?”

He looked around and Joly's gaze went from one to the other. Bossuet raised an eyebrow, mimicking his boyfriend.

“You two know each others?”

 

Feuilly kept on staring, his brows furrowed and his face conflicted. It was Bahorel who answered.

“We used to date. A while ago. He ended things.”

Feuilly's face was decidedly turning sour, but his gaze was unmoving.

“It was complicated.”

 

No one said anything, staring at the two frowning men. Soon enough Courfeyrac called to attention.

“Maybe we could go on now that everyone is here.”

Feuilly looked away, at last, and nodded.

“Yes. Sit. It might be long.”

 

*

 

“So...” Combeferre started slowly. “Jehan is an actual witch, R is in fact Grantaire and just turned back to human. You,” he pointed to Enjolras. “Called because R was spiting black molasses and you found out that an inquisitor had kidnapped Jehan. And now we have to help because only people without magic can enter the place where Jehan is kept prisoner?

“Yes.

“Is that a joke?

“I wish it was.”

 

Combeferre pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes and sighed.

“I don't believe in magic.”

Bahorel snorted and hid a smile behind his hand.

“You just killed a fairy.

“That's not how it works.”

Joly turned to Feuilly and frowned.

“Can you actually kill a fairy by saying that you don't believe in them?

“Sadly no. Annoying little creatures.

“Can we go back to the subject and my kidnapped and possibly tortured boyfriend?”

 

Everyone lowered their eyes, chastened.

“Sorry.”

Feuilly looked at his watch and nodded. He was about to say something when there was a knock at the door. Everyone looked at each-other and Courfeyrac stood up.

He opened the door to reveal a dishevelled Musichetta.

“Oh, Hugo...”

Courfeyrac couldn't say a word before the witch took him against her ample bosom and hugged him tightly, one of her hands still holding on a broom.

 

“Did she... really came here riding a broom?”

Bahorel turned to Feuilly who shrugged.

“She likes it. She says it's fast and more practical than the bus or the metro.

Combeferre was silently contemplating the turn that his life had taken without informing him beforehand and Enjolras put a warm hand on his back.

“Are you well?

“I am out of my depth.

“You'll get used to it.

“Did you?

“I lived with a talking crow for months before he started to periodically turn back into a human.”

 

They looked at each other and smiled a little before turning back to Musichetta, now in the living room with them.

“I learned what happened.” She looked around. “Hi Feuilly. What is going on? Am I interrupting something?

“No. We are waiting to hear news from Eponine and Gavroche. Then we're going to get Jehan out of wherever he is.”

She smiled a little and placed a kiss on Courfeyrac's cheek.

“That's good.” She looked at him a bit sadly, but turned around to face the other. “If I can help in any ways... I'm Musichetta. Nice to meet all of you. Oh, You're... Enjolras, right? How's R?

“He's... upstairs. He turned back today and... It's a little bit complicated.”

 

She looked up at Feuilly and the man nodded, turning to Enjolras.

“Musichetta is a witch, like Jehan. She'll take a look at Grantaire.

“Why don't you?

“Because I'm a magician. Not a witch.”

Combeferre frowned and sat a bit straighter.

“What's the difference?

“Well. I use magic. They use witchcraft.”

Musichetta smiled at Combeferre and made a little gesture toward the stairs.

“Come if you want. You can ask questions while I see to Grantaire.”

Combeferre looked at Courfeyrac, who nodded with a small smile, and followed the woman to the first floor. Enjolras stood up.

“Wait, I'm coming too.”

 

The men left in the living room seemed to hold their breath for a moment. When nothing happened, everyone relaxed into their chairs, at loss with what to do.

They could only wait.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO, HEY! Did you notice that before I added this chapter, there was exactly 6 chapters and 16666 words to this fic? =D  
> How awesome and fitting is this? Sorcery...
> 
> tumblr: lapieuvrebleue  
> super secret tumblr where there is news and extra about my fictions: juin1832


	8. The Cold Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Javert killed Jehan's mother when he was a child. He burned her at the stake. So I suggest we get everything going as fast as possible before I lose the man I love.”
> 
> In which there is a attempted rescue, and a very strong and mysterious man.

 

 

Combeferre and Enjolras stood at the end of what was now Grantaire's bed and Musichetta sat by the painter's side, examining his face and especially the black substance still dripping from time to time from his nose and lips. Combeferre frowned slightly.

“This is R?

“Yes.” Enjolras answered, his eyes fixed on the unconscious man. “His name is Grantaire, actually.

“What is wrong with him?”

Musichetta looked up toward the two of them and smiled a little.

“He will be fine I think. The paste is leaving his body right now and that might be slightly impressive, but it is benign. It's a magical cleansing now that most of the curse had been lifted?

“Most of it? It's not over yet?” Enjolras' face was sombre and concerned. “I thought... He's back to human, I thought that would be it.

“With magic, yes.” She put a brown skinned hand over Grantaire's pasty white one and closed her eyes in concentration. “But as I told you, this is not magic, this is witchcraft. The word “magic” has several meaning and most of them are erroneous. What you call _“magic users”_ we call _“people with capacities”_. I have capacities, but not magical one. My power depend essentially on witchcraft. I need plants, I need specific invocations, I can call upon supernatural beings by using animals. It is a practice based essentially on the earth and this is why Jehan pass as a herbalist and I as a florist. Feuilly, though... He is a Magician. He has capacities that are based on words, paper and ether. Where I have to ride a broom made of a specific blessed wood, Feuilly can travel in the ether. He can make things appear and disappear, including himself. But he can't heal someone with his power. Do you start to understand? “

Both men nod slowly, trying to digest the information. Musichetta smiled and fluffed the pillow under Grantaire's head before continuing.

“It is hereditary. Jehan's mother was a witch, as is mine. One or both of Feuilly's parents were surely magicians. But there are more... I might as well tell you at this point. Let's sit.” She pointed at the two armchairs on the other side of the room, near the bookshelves. Enjolras shook his head.

“You two sit, I'll...” He moved his hands toward Grantaire and Musichetta smiled softly as he sat on the bed, his hand around R's.

“Where was I... Yes. So, there is more than witches and magicians. Eponine for example is a seer. She can see the future but cannot do anything else in term of capacities. Her brother Gavroche is Feuilly's apprentice. He is a magician as well, even if a young one. You'll meet them both when they know more about Jehan's location.

“What about... Montparnasse?” Enjolras asked, and Musichetta seemed a bit thrown.

“How do you know about him?

“I've heard his name, but Jehan seemed against using his... help.

“Yes... Well. Montparnasse is a sorcerer.

“What is that?” asked Combeferre, pushing his glasses back on his nose.

“Sorcerers... They are a special sort of people. It's a form of melange between magic and witchcraft, a little bit like the alchemists, but... Mh. They use the power of the earth to change the ether. Do you know what necromancy is?

“Reviving the dead to predict the future.” Combeferre advanced.

“Yes, essentially. Necromancers are sorcerer, for example. They are know for a certain lack of... morals. They aren't all bad, of course. But Montparnasse is particularly infamous for accepting doubtful work of the more or less permanent silencing type.

“He kills people.

“Let's say he knows his way around death. But Jehan and him are very agreeable to each-other if that reassure you.”

There was a long silence. Enjolras brushed his thumb repeatedly over Grantaire's hand and essentially looked only at him. Combeferre sighed.

“I woke up to a different world this morning. I have to make sense of all of this.”

Musichetta gave him a compassionate smile and a pat on the knee.

“Let's go back downstairs. Grantaire will be fine, and you'll feel better with something in your belly.”

They both stood up but Enjolras stayed on the bed.

“I'd rather keep watch for a little while if it's all the same. I need to think for a moment.

“Of course.” Musichetta smiled again. “You know where to find us if there is anything.”

 

Combeferre put a warm hand on Enjolras' neck for a few second and followed Musichetta out. Once alone, Enjolras let out a shaking sigh and tightened his grip on Grantaire's hand.

“You scared me, you stupid bird.”

He smiled a little and laid down beside the sleeping man, their hands still entwined.

 

*

 

Downstairs, people were busying themselves with putting the house in order. The furniture was turned back up, the kitchen was cleaned and its table slid back in its place.

Musichetta was sitting in the living room with Joly, Bossuet and Bahorel, talking about nothing and everything, mostly her broom but also her apple tart.

“Can you really guess our favourite desserts by reading the lines of our hands?

“Who told you that? Jehan?” She laughed. “Maybe I can, let's try.” She took Joly's hand in hers and he blushed profusely. “Mmmh... That's interesting, Joly. Your lines are very clear. Much love is to be bestowed upon you.” She smiled at Bossuet. “and your favourite dessert is the _croûte à thé_.”

Joly opened two very wide eyes and turned to Bossuet in awe.

“But... But how???”

Musichetta laughed and shrugged. Bahorel smiled excitedly and handed out his own hand.

“Ok, my turn!!!”

 

In the kitchen, Feuilly was deliberately not looking at Bahorel and instead was putting his whole mind into the confection of lunch for nine persons. Courfeyrac was helping in hope that the task would divert his thoughts from Jehan, but with little results.

They had to bring his lunch to Enjolras who was still upstairs in the spare room and stayed there the whole day. Combeferre brought him a cup of tisane around four in the afternoon and a few biscuits. This time, Enjolras had dragged one of the armchairs to the bed side and was sitting in it, his upper half body lying on the bed, his hand never leaving Grantaire's. Upon seeing him, the blond straightened up and accepted the snack after a small last caress on the painter's hand.

“Any news about Jehan?” He asked, all but devouring the biscuits.

“Nothing so far. Courfeyrac is slowly going out of his mind. He looks on the verge of tears most of the time, but I can't blame him.

“No... “ Enjolras looked at Grantaire for a few seconds and returned his attention to Combeferre. “I want to believe that everything will be well, but I wish we had more informations, I wish there was anything we could do...

“Soon enough, Enjolras.

“You're right... Thank you for...” He gestured to his infusion and his last biscuit and Combeferre smiled, shaking his head.

“It's nothing. How is R?

“He sleeps. Sometimes his eyes move or his fingers twitch, but he stays asleep.

“Give it time.” Combeferre said softly and with a last shared smile, he went back downstairs.

 

More hours passed in the big house, seeing one more breakdown from Courfeyrac, whose grip on Combeferre's shirt almost ripped the fabric apart, one very awkward face to face in the kitchen for Feuilly and Bahorel that ended up with Feuilly almost jumping over the table to get out of it and the apparition of Enjolras, driven out of the spare room by the guilt he felt about not being there for Courfeyrac. He sat by his friend and they chatted in low voices for a while.

 

It was ten on the clock above the (still broken) radio when someone knocked at the door. Musichetta stood up and opened it to reveal a young woman with long brown hair and a smaller boy, holding her hand. She looked at them with unhidden hope and when the boy nodded, she could only hold herself to the wall and turn toward the rest of the group with a relieved face.

“They have found Jehan. They know where he is.”

 

The two new-comers came inside and Feuilly was immediately by the younger boy's side to take the girl's hand and lead her to a chair. It was clear to everyone that the young woman was blind. Her eyes were white and immobile.

“This is Eponine and Gavroche. They are here to help.”

Gavroche waved his hand and Eponine smiled.

“Hello. If you'd please bring a map, there is no time to lose, I do believe.”

Courfeyrac opened a drawer to get out the slightly old map of Paris that Jehan always kept there and spread it in front of Eponine. He looked close to collapsing and Enjolras put a gentle hand on his back.

Diligently, Gavroche explained the whereabouts of Jehan and the inspector, pointing to the Cathedrale of Notre Dame.

“They'r' in the undergoun'. Under Notre Dame. There is a sortov' cave with water. Zat's where they are. 'Ponine saw it.”

The young woman nodded.

“Yes. But it's warded against users. So you'll have to go in there on your own. Feuilly can probably bring you close, but afterwards it's all you. You have to know, Javert is not the kind of person to underestimate. And for him, Jehan is an unfinished business.”

Combeferre frowned and moved closer to Eponine.

“What do you mean by unfinished business?”

But before Eponine could answer, Courfeyrac had interjected.

“Javert killed Jehan's mother when he was a child. He burned her at the stake. So I suggest we get everything going as fast as possible before I lose the man I love.”

They all nodded and looked down on the map once more.

 

*

 

Jehan was standing barefoot on the stone floor, tied to the wall by length of harsh rope. He was already half drown by the glacial water the inquisitor kept throwing at him at regular intervals, and shivering from the cold. He thought that if he was lucky enough, he'd die of pneumonia before Javert got time to do anything worse.

 

“You could end all of this, Monsieur Prouvaire. Confess and the questioning will cease. Admit to your evil deeds and you will be forgiven by the Lord.

“There is n-no Evil, In-Inspector.” His teeth were chattering, and he shivered. “Only goodness and people that stops living by it.

“You consort with the devil, just like your mother. But God is merciful.

“Your... God.” He spat the word. “Your god could be m-merciful but you make it c-cruel. You are a d-disgrace to your religion. And the Vatican is full of d-demons just like y-”

Jehan couldn't end his sentence for Javert had struck him on the face with his still gloved hand.

“You shall not speak ill of the Holy-Siege. You know nothing of the will of God.

“Neither do you.”

 

They glared at each-other for a moment and Javert straightened himself before turning around and grabbing a leather bag.

“I believe I have been going the wrong way with you. Maybe you'll be more susceptible to different ways of interrogation.”

 

An hour later, Jehan's half muffled screams could be heard through the thick stone walls in between Javert's righteous and fanatical vociferations.

“ARE YOU A WITCH, DO YOU CONFESS??

“YES!!! Yes! Please, yes, I confess but please, stop... Stop...”

Jehan was still up against the wall, but the only thing keeping him on his feet now were the ropes around his body. He let his head fall down to hide his face and composed himself a little bit, swallowing the tears threatening to spill on his cheeks.

“Good. You don't have to suffer like this, witch. It is good that you saw the light.

“You are mad...”

 

Javert didn't dignify him with a response and put his instruments back in his leather bag.

 

*

 

At eleven, they were ready to go.

The big house exploded in movements after so much hours of inaction and everyone ran around, grabbing coats, shoes and each-other. Musichetta took to hugging everyone, and whispering words of protections in their ears. She hugged Joly and Bossuet in one single embrace and kissed the later on the corner of his mouth. To his startled expression and half incredulous smile, she answered with one of her own.

“You need all the luck you can get, don't you? Eponine and I are going to stay here. Take care of each-other.”

They smiled and went to get their coats, their hands entwined.

 

Enjolras looked upon his friends and smiled at the high spirit. Diligently, he headed upstairs to grab his coat, left on his chair in Grantaire's room. But once there, he could only sat by the man's side on the bed and caress one of his hands with the tips of his fingers. He leaned down to kiss his eyelids once, twice. Grantaire's mouth was dark and sticky. The molasses-like flow had stopped now, but his lips were tinctured blackish-blue, as if he had eaten too much raspberry or drank a glass full of ink. Enjolras closed his eyes for a moment and put his hand on Grantaire's heart, finger tightening around the fabric of his old pull over.

“Please, please... wake up. I need you to wake up and tell me again that you love me.”

Nothing happened, and Enjolras took a shaky breath, standing up. He put a few locks in order on Grantaire's forehead and smiled a little before leaving the room.

Enjolras was halfway down the stairs when he suddenly turned around and went back in the spare room, half running. He took Grantaire's face between his hands and kissed his lips, never minding the black substance.

“I love you.” He closed his eyes and kissed him a second time. “I love you. I'll be back soon, and then we'll talk, and we'll kiss again. Please, wake up.”

 

He looked at Grantaire one last time and kissed the side of his crooked nose, leaving the room for good this time. When he reached the ground floor, Combeferre intercepted him and with the end of his sleeve, rubbed off the spots of black from his red lips. Enjolras blinked and Combeferre put a warm hand on his shoulder and gave him a slight smile. Enjolras smiled back and they joined the others outside the house.

The front door closed behind the group and, in his bed, Grantaire opened two bleary eyes.

 

*

 

Jehan was kept under the sacred ground of Notre Dame, in a crypt long since forgotten by the clergy. Eponine had shown them on the map the location of the chamber and now they had to move quickly.

Feuilly guided them through a covered passage. Looking quite like any other passage scattered through Paris, except Enjolras had never seen this one before, and he was quite sure to know them all...

“It's only used by the magicians." Feuilly explaine. "It moves through space and the ether differently than any other places. In a minute, we'll be at the cathedral.

“Like...” Combeferre was looking around, amazed. “Like in the quantum. This is incredible. We are travelling in a single minute what should take us at least ten. This is the closest thing to time travel that we'll ever experiment! The... The faster we move through space, the slower we move through time!”

Bahorel pat him on the back, seemingly highly amused by Combeferre's epiphany and dragged him along.

“That's very nice Sam Beckett, but we're in a hurry. You can beg Feuilly to bring you back once we saved the herbalist.”

Feuilly, at the head of the group, signal them to stop walking.

“We're here. The _Porte de la cité_. It's under the hospital. One more door and it'll be Notre Dame. It used to be one of the old _Cour_ _des Miracles_ , but now it is abandoned.”

 

Feuilly led them through an old-looking wooden door lined by tainted glass and when it closed heavily behind them, a man came out of behind a pillar, still half hidden in the shadow.

 

“I believe you all are looking for the inspector Javert?”

 

*

 

All things considered, Javert's grip was very light on his arm. But Jehan was too tired to consider running away. He was so tired, he just wanted everything to stop. He let himself be dragged along a damp corridor and fought to keep his eyes opened despite the swelling. He wasn't going to cry.

They walked for a few minutes until they reached the end of the passageway, entering a vast cave lighted by electricity. The place must have belonged to the city of Paris. There was a large quay made of stone, and water. So much water.

Jehan bit his tongue to keep his whimpers inside. He didn't want to die. He wanted to be back home, with Courfeyrac. Spend the day in bed, under the covers, kissing and whispering secrets. Safe and warm. But Javert forced him down to tie his hands behind his back once more.

He took a deep breath and swallowed his tears. The inspector put him back on his feet and dragged him closer to the edge. Jehan looked at the water in front of him, his heart beating fast in his chest.

 

“You know how it works, witch. If you float, it's the pyre. If you sink, may God be with you.”

Jehan was shaking but his face was hard and resolute. If he was going to die either way, he might as well face it with courage.

Without a single word, Javert pushed him on the back and Jehan felt himself fall toward the water.

He closed his eyes and thought about Courfeyrac, praying to the gods to keep his lover well and taking a mere second to feel happy that the last words they had exchanged where words of love.

The last sound he heard before hitting the water was someone screaming his name, but before he could put a face on it, he had lost consciousness, surrounded by the cold, dark, liquid.

 

*

 

The man's name was Valjean.

Gavroche remembered seeing him at last year summer solstice only a few seconds before Feuilly knock him out. Everyone froze as the small boy shouted.

“No, wait, I know him! He's a 'ealer!”

Feuilly turned to him and rose an eyebrow. The boy nodded at the silent question and Feuilly let his arms fall. The man let out a relieved sigh and came out from the shadow.

“Thank you... I'm sorry I frightened you.

“What are you doing here?” asked Bahorel, frowning. “How do you know about Javert?

“Because I'm looking for him too.” Valjean gestured for them to follow him. “I have heard he was back in Paris and that he had taken someone.” The man looked at Feuilly and his lips thinned. “It's the boy from the last solstice, right? The one from the sacrifice.”

When Feuilly nodded, Valjean sighed and walked faster.

“Shame.”

Bahorel looked down at Gavroche and asked mildly.

“Sacrifice?”

The boy smiled, he was missing a tooth in the middle.

“Yeah. Ev'ry summer we celebrate and this year, Jehan was the one t'take the 'eart from the male goat. T'was mighty fine! And then he gave 'imslef t'the gods.”

Everyone, except Feuilly, Valjean and Courfeyrac, looked at Gavroche with wide eyes. Delicately, Combeferre raised his voice.

“What do you mean, he gave himself to the gods?”

At this point Courfeyrac turned his head toward them and glared.

“What do you think? And I'm sure Jehan did a great job of it!”

Feuilly nodded and pat Courfeyrac on the arm.

“He really did. One of the best solstices I've seen!

“Ah! There!” He said smugly at his friends, and Enjolras gapped a little before getting a hold on himself.

“SO! That doesn't tell us what Valjean was doing here!” He said, changing the subject before learning more about magical ceremonies. He was quite sure he didn't need to know.

Valjean smiled indulgently and started to explain.

“Javert and I have some history... A long time ago, he was still a novice then and I was far younger, just like your friend I fell pray to Javert's special brand of justice. This thing about Javert is that he doesn't do what he does by malice. He truly believes that he is doing the right thing, that he is obeying God and his holy law. He told me once that his parents, well... I think his mother was a witch. He might even be one too and punish himself for it, that would explain some things. The fact remains that he has slipped in a dangerous path... I still have marks from his questioning.” He put his hand on his chest, as if touching an old scar. And he quite possibly was. “I know where he is right now. But I am a healer, I can't accompany you.”

He stopped and pointed to a dark corridor. The entrance was covered in runes.

“You have to act quickly, for I fear we are quite late already to save your friend.”

Courfeyrac felt his heart skip a beat but Enjolras and Combeferre's hands on his shoulders managed to ground him a little.

“Bring back Javert if you can.”

 

Joly nodded and looked at the others before going first into the corridor, leaving Valjean, Feuilly and Gavroche behind them.

They could hear a voice at the other side of the tunnel, reverberating on the damp walls. They started to run and when they arrived to the opening of the cave, the first thing the saw was Jehan falling toward the water below him.

Courfeyrac screamed Jehan's name and started to run toward the bank, closely followed by Bahorel and Joly. He was about to jump when Bahorel grabbed his arm and jerked him back.

“I'm a better swimmer, I'm going.” He lost his shoes in half a second and dived, disappearing in the greenish water. Courfeyrac fell on his knees on the moss growing on the floor and Joly crouched by him.

“Bahorel will get him back. He is a lifeguard, you know. It'll be ok.”

And as he was saying the words, he tried to convince himself at the same time, holding Courfeyrac tight.

 

Meanwhile, Combeferre, Enjolras and Bossuet were encircling Javert with grave faces. Javert was livid.

“You young fools. You're trying to help him but he is lost already. God has mercy on his sinner soul.”

Enjolras frowned and chanced a step toward Javert.

“I'm quite sure the police will love your version of the fact.

“I'm protected by the Vatican.”

Combeferre shook his head.

“Once the affair is public, the Vatican will never support you.”

Javert roared in rage and took the bludgeon hanging from his belt. With fast reflexes, he tried to stun Bossuet who, he later though was thank to Musichetta's magical kiss, miraculously avoided the hit. Enjolras, on the other hand, was savage. He jumped on Javert, hitting him on the side of the head with his elbow, affectively dizzying the inspector for a few seconds. Combeferre used these precious seconds to disarm the man and before he could do anything with the bludgeon, Enjolras had snatched the baton from his hand and had hit the man's head until he fell unconscious. And before anyone could stop him, he had hit him a second time. Combeferre took the weapon from Enjolras' hand and handed it out to Bossuet.

“Enjolras, please, calm down.”

The blond was full of righteous fury, his eyes ablaze, but upon hearing his friend's voice, he deflated a little. He looked down at the inspector and took a deep breath.

“We need to tie him up.

“Bossuet and I will do it. Go to Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras nodded and strolled away from the unconscious and bleeding man on the floor.

 

Bahorel, in the murky waters, was not visible. He had been under for almost a full minute now and Courfeyrac was shaking with terror. Enjolras joined him and hold his hand, scanning the water to try and locate the two men hidden in the stream. Joly was the first to spot Bahorel.

“THERE!!! He is there, Courfeyrac!! I think... He has Jehan!”

His voice was filled with relief, but Enjolras was going to wait until both men were ashore and proven alive to let himself relax.

They watched, helpless, as Bahorel was fighting the flow, stronger near the quay. Courfeyrac was half overboard, trying to catch both men to drag them on the dry land, and Combeferre and Bossuet were holding him by his T-shirt and jeans. Eventually, Courfeyrac took a strong hold of Bahorel hand and all of them joined in the effort to bring them both on the pier.

As soon as Jehan was lying on the ground, Joly and Combeferre started to fuss around him, cutting the ropes around his members and Combeferre began to get the water out of his lungs.

Courfeyrac was standing aside, both his hands over his mouth. Enjolras was by his side, holding him, while Bossuet was making sure Bahorel was all right.

 

After what seemed to Courfeyrac like an eternity, Jehan started to cough and turned to his side to throw up more water.

Courfeyrac started to cry in relief. “Oh gods... oh gods thank you. Thank you!!!”

He let himself fall to his knees on Jehan's side and gently hold his neck, a hand over his beating heart. Jehan, eyes still unfocused, tried to look at him and Courfeyrac smiled as best as he could, softly kissing him on the forehead.

“Oh love... You're safe now. We've got you.”

Jehan seemed to nod once before he closed his eyes and sagged against Courfeyrac's side. The young man looked up to Combeferre in alarm.

“We need to go back to his house now. Musichetta will surely be able to help.”

Enjolras dragged a hand on his face before turning to his friends.

“Courfeyrac, you carry Jehan. Combeferre and I will take care of Javert. We need to leave here.”

 

He took hold of the inspector legs, locking his arms under his knees while Combeferre grabbed Javert under the armpits. They shuffled back through the corridor, Courfeyrac holding Jehan against his torso, one hand under his knees and the other under his shoulders.

Upon seeing them, Feuilly closed his eyes in alleviation but, seeing Jehan's motionless form, he tensed again.

“Is he...

“He is just unconscious. We need to go home now.”

Feuilly acquiesced and looked at the rest of the company. Valjean seemed relieved to see them bringing back Javert. Though Enjolras dropped the man's leg quite unceremoniously.

“You can carry him now... He is heavy, the animal.”

To everyone's amazement, Valjean took the inspector on his back as if he weighted nothing.

A minutes later, they had left the crypt and were back to the _porte de la cité_. They all entered the covered passage and the light was welcomed by them all. Courfeyrac turned to Valjean.

“Thank you, Monsieur, for your help. Without you we would have been too late.

“Please. I'm glad you saved the boy. And Javert won't arm anyone anymore. I'll make sure of that.”

They all nod solemnly at the old man and parted way with much more ado.

 

The group made its way back to the rue Mondétour and when Feuilly opened the gate to the garden, Musichetta came out of the front door with big worried eyes. Feuilly smiled to her and she closed her eyes, putting both hands on her chest, thanking the gods.

She stepped aside to let everyone back inside the big house and they installed Jehan on the sofa, nearby the stove.

Gavroche ran to Eponine to tell her all about the rescue and Feuilly, with a last look outside, closed the front door.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: lapieuvrebleue  
> super secret tumblr where there is news and extra about my fictions: juin1832


	9. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end!  
> Thank you so much to everyone that subscribed/left a comment or a kudos, or simply read the fiction!  
> I hope you liked it, and that it left you a little bit more happy than you were when you started.  
> Love you all, and have a good day. 
> 
> If there is anything you'd like to see developed further, don't hesitate to ask for it. I'm sure some of you would think of things I wouldn't. (Like, Montparnasse maybe? Marius and Cosette, or Bahorel and Feuilly's relationship, I don't know what interests you.)

 

 

 

Enjolras looked at everyone fussing around Jehan, and decided to excuse himself from the room, confident that the witch boy would be in more than capable hands.

He rubbed his own hands together, slowly, and exhaled, letting out a tired sigh as he climbed the stairs under Musichetta's heavy gaze. He mechanically turned to his left to enter the spare room where he had left Grantaire a few hours earlier.

Enjolras opened the door quietly and closed it behind him before looking up to the bed.

The very empty bed...

 

For a moment, Enjolras' heart stopped beating, or so it seemed to him. He looked around and the sight of Grantaire sitting with his back turned to him in the armchair by the big bookshelves made his knees grow weak.

“Grantaire...”

The man turned around and, upon seeing Enjolras, smiled brightly. The blond took a step toward him and Grantaire took the rest of them. In the blink of an eye, both men were locked in the tightest of embraces, eyes closed and fingers hooked in each-other clothing.

“Enjolras...”

The blond said nothing at first, but nodded silently into Grantaire's neck. Grantaire smiled, his teeth touching the thin skin of Enjolras' shoulder.

Slowly, gently, they put some space between themselves, just enough to look at each other's eyes.

“You're healed.” Enjolras put his hand on the back of Grantaire's neck. “Are you... Is your curse lifted?”

Grantaire nodded and smiled, showing off his uneven (and chipped) teeth. Enjolras felt like kissing him and did so. It was a bit savage and absolutely exquisite. Grantaire laughed a little in between bites and gripped Enjolras' hips and flanks with strong callused hands.

“Gods, I do love you.

“And I, you.” Enjolras whispered with wide eyes. Grantaire was looking at him, slightly overwhelmed and smiled again. He got an other kiss for his trouble.

 

“How is Jehan, then?”

Enjolras gripped his hand around Grantaire's old jumper.

“He will be fine, I do believe. Feuilly is a wizard-

“Magician.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Magician. And Combeferre is a doctor. He was pretty banged up, though. Joly thinks he has been tortured.”

Grantaire stiffened and pulled back from Enjolras a little.

“Seriously?”

When Enjolras hummed in affirmation, Grantaire blinked a few time and looked around aimlessly.

“Can I see him? I need to see him!!”

The blond frowned in concern and nodded. They made their way downstairs and Grantaire rushed to Jehan's side. Courfeyrac looked at him a few second before recalling who the dark haired stranger was. He still wasn't used to see him in human form.

Meanwhile Jehan was looking at Grantaire with the biggest smile he could muster.

“Oh! Look at you! Still handsome, I can see.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow and looked at the witch in exaggerated worry.

“Did you bang your head on the way back, witch? I never was handsome, and I was an ugly bird.”

Jehan laughed, but his ribs were too painful for him to do it longer than a few seconds.

“Ah, well... I'm sure Enjolras thinks you're fine, considering you're back to being a real boy.”

Grantaire blushed a little but his smile betrayed his amusement and secret pleasure. Combeferre turned to Enjolras, who, very smoothly, decided to look through the window in the exact opposite direction.

“In any cases, I'm very glad to see you well, R.

“Ah, yeah. Speaking of that...” Bossuet interjected. “What's your human name?

“Camille.” Grantaire said, with a very straight face. They looked at him a few seconds and Bahorel put a hand to his chin.

“I don't get where the R comes from, if I'm completely honest.”

The painter laughed a little and Enjolras found himself compelled to look at him instead of the window. Combeferre squinted.

“Grantaire's my family name.

“Ah!” Bossuet smiled. “Nice.”

Grantaire bowed a little at the praise and looked back to Jehan.

“How are you feeling?

“Better now that I'm sitting on my very own sofa, drinking a nice cup of magic tea.”

The former crow hummed.

“Mm-yes. Beats dungeons any days.

“Don't it.” Jehan smiled, both of them ignoring the slightly disproving face Feuilly was making from his armchair. “But seriously, I will be all right. Musichetta is magical.” He smiled idiotically and Grantaire and Courfeyrac shook their heads.

“Yeah, well. Rest. No heavy lifting and no prancing around in nothing but a sheer belt of flowers.

“You're overreacting. I haven't pranced around in a flower belt since Mabon four years ago... Good times, though.”

Musichetta nodded sagely and put her hand on Jehan's ankle.

“We should do it again sometimes. The ale that year was amazing.”

Jehan smiled at her and closed his eyes a few seconds. Courfeyrac took it as a sign that it was time for everyone to leave the witch boy alone.

“Go to your beds, leave him to rest and we'll still be here in the morning. Good night!”

They all bad each-other goodnight and dispersed in the house.

 

*

 

It was the first light of morning, Jehan had been home for a few hour, asleep in his bed with Courfeyrac curled around him like the cat he was, or used to be.

 

Downstairs, Feuilly and Gavroche had transformed the living-room into a big sleeping place, and Joly and Bossuet had fallen asleep mid-discussion on each side of Musichetta.

Gavroche was now sprawled all over Bahorel (to whom he had taken a shining), and both of them were snoring like electric lawn mowers. In front of them, Combeferre was asleep in an armchair and Eponine in an other one.

Only Feuilly couldn't sleep.

He was sitting by the window sill in the kitchen, going over the night events again and again, when he saw something moving in the big apple tree. Frowning, he stood up and went outside.

At the bottom of the tree was lying a shoe. The magician took it in his hand before looking up to the top of the _pommier_. There, between the branches, was a smiling (and still very human, Feuilly noted) Grantaire.

“What are you doing?

“I don't know,” the grinning man answered “Bad habit I guess. I used to perch on this tree all the time. I wanted to see if I still could.

“And?

“Well! I can!”

Feuilly started to laugh, and found that he couldn't stop. All the stress and worries of the last hours, finally getting out of him in quiet burst of laughter. He sat on the ground and closed his eyes, his back to the bark of the tree. There was a rustling sound and the shock wave of someone falling heavily on the earth. Grantaire had climbed (or jumped, possibly) down and landed on his feet.

“Yeah... Still got it.” He smirked to himself.

They sat together on the damp grass and watched the sun rise above the garden, in companionable silence.

 

Almost an hour later, a whispered voice rang from the window higher up.

“Grantaire?”

The painter looked up and waved at Enjolras with a radiant smile.

“Down here! No, don't move, I'm coming back right away!”

Not waiting a second more, he started to climb up with impressive agility. Feuilly rolled his eyes.

“Still a show off, apparently.

“Pfft.” Grantaire snorted. “Hey, give me back my shoe.”

Feuilly smirked and wiggled his hand in front of the shoe, as if he was a prestidigitator. There was a burst of smoke and the shoe was back on Grantaire's foot.

“Now, who's showing off?” The artist laughed.

Feuilly waved him off and when the window had closed behind him, went back inside.

 

*

 

A few weeks later, barely two, Jehan was mostly recovered, at least physically. He would still wake up during the night, silent and grave, and sit by the window for a long time. The shadows under his eyes were mostly gone now, but the cicatrices on his wrists would take more time. If they even were to disappear at all.

 

It was a little after one, on a Saturday afternoon. They had eaten a light salad made of wheat grains, linseeds and vegetables. For dessert there had been cottage cheese and cherry jam from Joly's mother.

Jehan was now working in the kitchen, weighting herbs and oils to prepare a new batch of ointment for Monsieur Mabeuf's painful joints and Courfeyrac was sprawled on the carpet not too far from him. The radio was once again in working order and could even receive the Users' radio programs.

The radio host was going on about the upcoming mandrake crops (and wasn't it ridiculously difficult to get some, since there was no longer any public hanging!?) and Jehan was half listening, reflecting on his possible need of the root for any potion or paste. He was distracted from his thoughts when Courfeyrac came behind him and, kneeling at his side, gave his hand a dozen little kisses before rubbing his cheek on the Jehan's palm.

“Your fingers smell like thyme.

“I got some from the garden, just now.”

Jehan smiled as Courfeyrac pressed his face a little more into the witch's hand, his eyes closed in quiet pleasure.

“I like it. It's nice.”

The smaller man shut his eyes in delighted happiness and curled his fingers around Courfeyrac's jaw.

“I love you.” He said, whispering in thick black curls. “I love your hair, I love the smell of your skin, I love how you kiss the back of my neck every time I work at the kitchen table.”

Courfeyrac emitted a humming sound that was close to purring and Jehan smiled behind his lover's ear, kissing a soft spot of skin.

“You smell like catmint. Have you been fooling around in the garden again?”

Courfeyrac blushed a little and gave an other kiss to Jehan.

“No. I drank it in an infusion.”

Jehan laughed a little and kissed Courfeyrac on the lips, tasting the plant on his tongue. Courfeyrac gently bit the witch's lip and his hands settled on Jehan's hips.

Jehan closed his eyes, and the door bell rang.

They looked at each-other and smiled at the timing. With a last kiss, Jehan went to answer the door.

“Oh! Monsieur Valjean! Please, come in.”

 

Jean Valjean, the man who had helped his friends rescue him (he later learned), had visited twice already since the night under the cathedral. The first time to enquire about his health, and the second because Jehan and him had found themselves engrossed in a discussion about the healing properties of the Belladonna and wanted to talk about it a little more.

He was today accompanied by a young woman that he introduced as his daughter.

“Jehan, Hugo, this is Euphrasie.

“Oh please!” The young woman said, “Call me Cosette!”

 

They went to the living room and Courfeyrac left them to it for a moment in order to get some tea and biscuits.

When he returned, the faces were sombre and serious. He frowned and took the discussion in a stride.

“No, he is still detained. But I can assure you that he will not arm anyone ever again.

“Is he showing any sort of remorse for what he had done?

“I'm not sure yet...”

Jehan nodded and turned to Courfeyrac with a light smile, but his hand rubbing his wrist gave it away.

“You're talking about Javert, aren't you?”

When Jehan nodded, he sighed and sat close to him, tenderly kissing his jaw. Cosette smile gently and poured the tea.

“So!” She said. “Papa told me a lot about you two. How did you meet?”

Jehan and Courfeyrac looked at each-other and the witch turned to Cosette.

“We met at the Luxembourg. It was a very nice day. April I do believe. Well, I had seen him before, but I spoke to him for the first time in April.”

“Yes.” Courfeyrac nodded. “April. You were wearing flowers at your buttonhole. Acacia, wasn't it?” He smiled when Jehan acquiesced. “You were a vision.”

They looked at each-other for a moment and Jehan turned back to Cosette.

“We dated for a while, but we had a fall out. So, all in all, we only dated for... a little less than two years.” he looked at Courfeyrac, who opened very wide eyes.

“Yes. How strange.

“Why is it strange?” Cosette asked.

“Because I have been living here in the house for the past four years and a half. Almost five.”

Cosette seemed a bit confused but didn't insist. Valjean was looking at them knowingly but decided to sip his tea instead of making a comment.

 

They had a lovely afternoon.

 

*

 

Enjolras and Grantaire had been living together since the man had turned back.

Grantaire would still eat all the figs in secret and Enjolras would still be upset about it, but sleeping each night in the other's arm, knowing that he would still be here the following morning was a new thing that they enjoyed very much, and enough to calm their disputes for the time being.

There is a sort of peace, coming from the simple knowledge that you are truly loved, without questions asked and without doubt.

Grantaire would look at Enjolras in the afternoon light, working at his desk, basked in gold and silvers and while he didn't truly understand why and how, he knew. He knew that despite his face, despite his still present cynicism, despite his weaknesses and self-doubts, Enjolras loved him genuinely and strongly enough to make him human again.

There was a promise in this. A certainty that kept the artist warm and light headed. A future full of passing time and lasting sentiments.

 

Grantaire was doodling in the sofa one Sunday morning when he suddenly let his pencil fall from his hand and turned to Enjolras, reading the news in front of him.

“I need to go to Jehan's.

“What?” The blond asked, startled.

“I need to go to Jehan's. I just remembered! He has all my stuff. He took all my belonging after I was turned into a bird.” He frowned. “That was disturbing, by the way. I don't ever want to spit my keys ever again.

“What?” Said Enjolras again, this time with a slight smile.

Grantaire smiled in return and stood up, still entirely naked. (Sundays were nudist days. Or so Grantaire had declared that very morning. Enjolras had gone with it with a shrug and let Grantaire sketch him between two cups of coffee.)

“We need to go there now!

“Now? But it's barely ten. They might still be in bed.

“But I can't wait! I won't be able to focus on anything else until I go there! It's all my life he has got somewhere...” He smiled softly. “Well... I guess now I also have an angel in my bed instead of on my walls.”

Enjolras looked at him from under his lashes and smiled, amused and flattered.

“We'll go before noon. But it's Sunday. Let them sleep of do whatever they might do on a Sunday morning.

“They're having sex I bet.

“Lucky them.” Enjolras said casually.

Grantaire turned around toward Enjolras and all but charged him, taking him in his arms and turning back toward the bedroom.

“You're right. Ten is too early. I should distract myself with something, and, Oh! Would you look at this. There is a naked man in my arms.

“Put me down, you're going to hurt yourself!!!” Enjolras protested but the laughter in his voice was ruining the effect.

“Lucky me, the bed is near!” Grantaire growled as attacked the blond man's throat with his teeth and tongue. Enjolras' toes curled on themselves and he didn't even noticed when Grantaire put him down the matress.

 

They ended up leaving the flat a little after one in the afternoon.

Jehan had been delighted to see them and once Grantaire's belongings had been mentioned he slapped his own forehead and exclaimed:

“Oh, gods! Of course! The bag!!!

“The bag?” Enjolras said, frowning. “There is only one bag?

“Yes. But it's a big bag. A magic bag. Bought from a sorcerer.”

Enjolras nodded politely but look at Grantaire, a little out of his depth. Grantaire laughed and followed Jehan up the stairs.

“Should I come?” Enjolras asked from the kitchen.

“No, stay with Courfeyrac! We'll be back right away.”

Enjolras turned to Courfeyrac, who shrugged with a comical face, and offered him some home grown strawberries along with his opinion on the latest decisions made by Paris mayor.

 

Upstairs in the attic, Jehan was ecstatic

“I can't believe I forgot! Oh, Grantaire! I put your whole wall somewhere inside. It was so amazing.

“You took the whole wall...” He laughed. “I can't believe you.

“I really did. Ah! There it is. Look at that. The tag is at your name. Oh, and a few canvas also. Will you take the bag? I'll bring the paintings down.

“Sure.” He said, taking the leather handle in hand. He was about to lift it when Jehan's voice rang, shy and delicate.

“R...”

Grantaire turned around.

“Mh?

“Have you... Have you forgiven me? For the bird thing.”

The black-haired man smiled slowly and put his hand on Jehan's shoulder, who looked down.

“Hey. Jehan, yes, I forgave you. You're my best friend, witch.” He squeezed the shoulder. “And I guess without you I wouldn't have met Enjolras. And anyway, my life here was better than my life beforehand. So, you see... I'm not too mad.”

Jehan smiled shyly and rubbed his forehead.

“All right then. Let's go.”

Slowly, (the bag was heavy), they made their way downstairs, to Enjolras and Courfeyrac.

 

“So! What's in the bag!!!” Courfeyrac was peering over Jehan's shoulder excitedly. “I arrived here after R, so I never knew!”

Enjolras was calmer but just as curious. There was more than twenty years of life in this bag, that he ignored about Grantaire. He took the man's hand in his and smiled.

“Come on, open it.”

Grantaire kissed Enjolras' hand and let it go in order to open the leather bag. There was no magical sparks once he had done it, just a little bit of dust. He looked up to Jehan who nodded encouragingly.

Slowly, he reached inside and his hand never touched the bottom of the bag. Instead, he closed his fingers around a heavy stick and took it out, a huge smile on his face.

“Would you look at that!!! My fighting stick!”

He put it on the ground carefully and started to take more items out, laying them around. Books, postcards, vinyl records and clothes. A lot of art supplies, sketchbooks that Enjolras eyed curiously, and one or two art prints in between knick knacks and kitchen utensils. ( “My toaster! Oh, it's an antic! I bet it's still working.”)

At last, Grantaire took a strong hold of a large and heavy roll of paper and took it out of the bag.

“Oh, that's the wall!” Jehan cried out, excited.

Courfeyrac and Enjolras looked up, intrigued and Grantaire put the roll down on the kitchen floor.

“Should I unroll it? I don't really remember what it looked like... I think most of it was drunk-painted.”

He grimaced and glanced at Enjolras who gave him a little smile.

“Open it, Grantaire!” Jehan exclaimed. “I remember it and it is wonderful.”

 

Once the wall had been unrolled, they all sort of stared at it for a minute.

“Grantaire...” Enjolras was awed. “Grantaire this is-

“Yeah!” Courfeyrac agreed.

Grantaire rubbed the back of his head with embarrassment.

“It's nothing. It's just a wall...

“Don't you think this angel looks kind of like Enjolras?

“What?

“What?”

They all bend over the designated figure and Grantaire squinted.

“Nah... Enjolras is better looking than this angel.

“There is something though.” Jehan said, making Enjolras' cheek burn red.

“Yeah well...

“You should put it on the wall outside the garden.” Grantaire cut them with wide eyes. Jehan clapped his hands together in front of his mouth.

“Would you be all right with it? Really?

“Yeah! I mean... Where else? I can't really well put it back where I painted it. I don't even live there anymore.” He grabbed Enjolras' hand. “Would you like that, Jehan?

“I would love it!! Oh, this is wonderful! I'll do it tonight.”

Grantaire smiled and leaned a little against Enjolras. He felt nice there, simply happy.

Enjolras kissed the shell of his ear and whispered:

“I love you.”

 

Grantaire closed his eyes, warm and content.

 

*

 

“Why did you leave?” He asked, eyes dark and serious. His fists were closed and his whole frame was tense. Feuilly eyed him up and turned his head to the other side of the café to hide his expression.

“I had to. I couldn't... I was...” He frowned. “I was afraid of telling you about me, I guess.”

Bahorel tightened his jaw and glared at Feuilly until the magician turned back toward him.

“I'm sorry, all right?” He let his eyes wander over Bahorel's arms and hands, the rich dark tones of his skin and the light stubble on his cheeks. “I'm sorry Nicolas.

“I was in love with you.

“I... “ Feuilly found himself unable to continue, floored and strangely exultant in his woe. “You loved me?

“Are you surprised?”

The magician bit his lips and nervously played with a sheet of paper that was laying around. He started to fold it mechanically.

“Yes... No. I'm making myself sad, mostly.” He kept folding until the shape in his hand turned into a life-like goldfish. Bahorel didn't interrupt him. “I loved you too... I thought it best to end things before it got too complicated. And I had to leave for Poland, I was being followed by an inquisitor at the time. I had to disappear for a while.

“You should have told me.”

Feuilly snorted in disbelief.

“And then what? I had to leave anyway.

“I would have followed you, you know.”

The magician stared at him intensely and letting the paper fish struggle and jump on the table, he put his head in his hands.

“It feels to me like a never ending string of bad decisions.”

Bahorel said nothing but knocked his foot against Feuilly's. The magician looked up, holding a fist against his lips.

“Do you... Have you-. Are you dating anyone?

“Did you really not know that Courfeyrac was one of my friend?

“I really didn't.”

Bahorel smiled.

“No. I'm not dating anyone.

Slowly, Feuilly smiled back.

 

*

 

A few months later Courfeyrac came home with a spring to his step and a bouquet of wild flower in his hand. He turned the corner of the street, opened the fence with a flourish, closed it in a similar fashion and pushed the door of the big house.

“Jehan, my love, I have something for y- What in hell...”

On the kitchen floor was a massive black dog with wide brown eyes and a very serious face. Courfeyrac frowned and turned to Jehan, frozen on the spot in the kitchen.

“Jehan... What is that?”

 

Jehan blushed terribly and bit his lip.

“It's not what it looks like!!!”

Courfeyrac squinted and stared at Jehan wordlessly. The witch fidgeted a little, obviously a little distressed.

“He's not... I did not do this! It's not my work, I swear.”

Courfeyrac blinked and smiled gently, relaxing slowly and handing the flower bouquet to Jehan.

“I believe you. Where did you find... it. Him. The dog.

“His name is Marius.

“ _Enchanté._ ” said the dog with a big smile and a little bit of tongue on the side. Courfeyrac's eyes widened and he sighed, overwhelmed. The witch's smile was apologetic when he finally said:

“I believe he's going to be with us for a while.”

 

Courfeyrac closed his eyes a few seconds and opened them again with a laugh and a hand to his forehead.

“Gods almighty, Jehan... Do I love you.”

The witch smiled hesitantly but when Courfeyrac pulled him against his body to kiss him enthusiastically, he just shrugged and closed his eyes.

The dog, timid or embarrassed, went outside and laid down by the bench under the window. The sun was shining on the garden and Jehan's laughter was loud in the summer afternoon.

 

 

There is a witch living at the angle of the Rue Mondétour and the Rue de la Chanvrerie. The house with the fresco outside the big garden. Everyone knows that.

Like every other witches, she is old and ugly. She rides a broom at night and eats little girls for breakfast. She has a black dog, and sometime she even transform people into toads when she's angry.  
Everyone knows that.

 

It makes Jehan laugh, because he never transformed anyone into a toad. Just ask Courfeyrac!

 

 

 

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: lapieuvrebleue  
> super secret tumblr where there is news and extra about my fictions: juin1832

**Author's Note:**

> The angle of the Rue Mondétour and the Rue de la Chanvrerie is where the barricade was, in 1832.


End file.
